Lady Catherine's Condescension
by Laina Lee
Summary: This "delightful mix of the absurd and the poignant" begins when Lady Catherine gives the new Mr. & Mrs. Collins their wedding night talk, emphasizing how he can satisfy his wife. Later the Collinses, Lady C and widower Mr. Bennet end up at Pemberley. The Darcys long for a baby. Can Jane learn to trust Bingley? Four HEAs, "M" for explicit advice, ridiculous fantasies and sex.
1. Chapter 1

_Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes and consideration for his comfort appeared very remarkable._-Chapter 14

_[N]othing was beneath this great lady's attention which could furnish her with an occasion of dictating to others.-_Chapter 29

_"[S]he could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.''-_Chapter 32

**Lady Catherine's Condescension**

**Chapter One: Mr. Collins: Obeying Her Summons**

When I was leaving Kent for Hertfordshire for the last time as a single man, a few days before my marriage to Miss Lucas was to take place, naturally I took my leave of Lady Catherine. On this occasion she instructed me, "Mr. Collins, as soon as you marry Miss Lucas you must return straight away to Kent. After giving the new Mrs. Collins a quick tour of the parsonage, you will bring her to call upon me at Rosings to receive my most pertinent advice on marriage."

"It would be my pleasure and honor," I told her, feeling quite pleased that Lady Catherine took such a personal interest in me and my concerns. She is a most kind and generous patroness.

"Now Mr. Collins, I know how men can be about things, lustful and without self-control. A clergyman must hold himself to the highest standards, especially one who works for me." She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at me. Like a naughty puppy who has piddled on the rug, I felt myself shrinking down, though unlike the puppy, I knew I had done nothing wrong.

She seemed to grow larger as she leaned forward and asked me in a strident tone, "Have you obeyed me and refrained from all fornication with Miss Lucas?"

"Of course, Lady Catherine!" I was horrified that she would question my integrity. "I would never gainsay your instructions and furthermore such would set the most grievous standard for my parishioners."

"Very well, but now I will add to your instructions. In addition to refraining from engaging in any fornication with Miss Lucas, neither will you engage in any marital intimacies with Mrs. Collins on your wedding day. You will show her all respect before coming to see me."

Naturally I agreed.

Given my patroness's affability and condescension in allowing me to be gone so often in visiting my bride to be, I was determined to do nothing to cause Lady Catherine the least amount of displeasure. Therefore, on Thursday, rather than partaking of a wedding breakfast at Lucas Lodge after we said our vows (as the Lucases had offered), we married as early in the day as we could and then Charlotte and I set off for Kent from the church doors.

I did not know what Charlotte thought of this decision as she kept her own counsel. I knew then that I was the most fortunate of men in my choice of bride, because I thought that, had I married my cousin Miss Elizabeth, she would have offered a most vociferous opposition if I had insisted on whisking her off from Hertfordshire without even so much as a wedding breakfast at Longbourn.

Charlotte and I traveled by rented carriage which was an indulgence to be sure, but I could hardly wish to convey my new bride and all her worldly possessions by post. A number of items were stowed both above and below the carriage, but additional more delicate items were laying across the bench opposite of us, consisting of a long looking glass which was tied to the seat and cushioned with a blanket, and some other items in hat boxes.

This necessitated my new wife sitting beside me, an arrangement that felt most awkward indeed. She was well dressed for the cold, wearing a thick coat over her dress and having a large blanket covering her legs and lap, tucked around her, excluding me.

I thought how different it might have been if we were a love match. Perhaps even now we might be sharing the blanket, pressed close together, my arm around her shoulders, perhaps even pressing a few kisses against her face and neck. I could not think such actions would be the banned fornication.

Despite my pretty words to Charlotte and declarations of violent love, I knew that nothing could be further from the truth. However, a husband owes his wife at least the outer trappings of love. But because there was no love between us, nothing about how she was situated was welcoming toward me.

I knew I had the right to be alone with my wife, to be next to her and partake from her anything I wished (though I would obey Lady Catherine's dictates I could not help but believe I would be released from her strictures following our meeting). I desired Charlotte, as a husband should desire a wife, but doubted she desired me. I felt simultaneously that our wedding night was both too far away and too soon.

I know that I am not handsome. The best that can be said of me is that I am tall (not Mr. Darcy tall of course, but taller than Mr. Bennet or Mr. Lucas). The polite will call me thick-set, the less polite portly or rotund. I had much discomfort in knowing that given our close proximity, Charlotte must be seeing that my belly bulged even through my waistcoat and coat. Given the relative deprivation of my youth, it is far too easy for me to consume too much as I still contain that hungry boy.

Additionally, in my nervousness (though it was cold), I felt sweat in my armpits and on the palms of my hands. Worse yet, I could smell the unmistakably stench of my nervousness and distress, yet had no hope that it was masked from my bride by virtue of the light fragrance she wore. This had the unfortunate consequence of causing me to sweat further.

When I feel awkward, which is almost always (who would not feel awkward having grown up with an illiterate and miserly father and always being fearful of being found out as unworthy of the position in life in which I now find myself, I know I was recommended to Lady Catherine mostly as a joke), I speak far too much. Thus I found myself talking on and on about Lady Catherine's condescension as Charlotte politely nodded.

As I spoke, I took up her hand in mine. I consoled myself with the thought that she could not feel the dampness of my palm through my leather glove and her own glove.

In preparation for the night that was to follow, I wished to remove her glove and kiss her hand. But perhaps that would be too forward. Charlotte had given me no encouragement during our engagement to partake in any of the usual physical intimacies that I understand others may enjoy during such a time. So instead I awkwardly held her hand for a while, and then feeling my sweat increase in amount from this action, then set it down. She gave a little relieved sigh as I set her hand down, which did not bode well for me.

After the newly minted Mrs. Collins and I arrived in Hunsford, I helped her down from the carriage and then led her through the gate and along the little gravel walk to our front door. The coachman followed after us as I had paid him extra to convey Mrs. Collins's possessions inside the house. However, I did my best to ignore him and focus on my bride.

Before we entered, I remarked, "My dear Mrs. Collins it is my pleasure to welcome you to your new home. Soon you will soon see that the parsonage, though a humble abode, is all that I promised it would be."

As we stepped through the doorway I commented, "Is not the front entrance charming?" I then proceeded to describe its charms in such detail that I even bored myself as the coachman impatiently waited for me to clear the path to the parlor when he was to unload Mrs. Collins's possessions.

Then I guided her into the parlor and commented, "As you can see, the parlor is befitting for someone in my position. Lady Catherine had it freshly papered just before I took up this post and had new upholstery placed upon our sofa and chairs which were left by the previous occupant as all the furniture, but that which is borrowed from the attics at Rosing, belongs to the parsonage. Lady Catherine herself recalled that she changed her mind about the papers to be used to freshen Miss de Bourgh's chambers (the design Miss de Bourgh had chosen was far too plain), but believed this small flower design on this wallpaper might create the right ambiance when I should meet with parishioners, sufficiently humble. You see, of course, that the stripes in the fabric of the sofa (which was left over from Mrs. Jenkinson's room) complement the colors on the walls."

Charlotte nodded. Her face was pleasant but not especially encouraging of my discourse. I proceeded with the tour, showing her every piece of furniture and not neglecting even the sideboard or the fender. I then took her outside to see the garden. I had only begun to plan the use I might make of it in the next growing season, January being far too early and the ground too hard, to do anything yet.

She told me, "Gardening is such a healthful occupation, the work and the fresh air, and the chance to dine upon the work of your hands makes it meaningful indeed. I shall delight in seeing what you grow." With such encouragement, I was determined to make it a success, for her sake.

I also showed her the chicken coops (there were no chickens yet), the pasture which would nourish our cows (we had only one so far), and the barn which housed our one cow and also held my horse and curricle (I had no money for a carriage). She smiled and told me. "I am pleased with the plans you have made. As you will tend the garden, I shall tend the chickens and the cows."

When we went back into the parsonage, I showed her another parlor (as this one faced the back of the property and would not be used for entertaining, Lady Catherine had not deemed it necessary to make or suggest any alterations to it, save for the addition of a thick rug which was only thirty years out-of-date), the dining room and the kitchen. "As you can see it is a plain manner of living as I told you it would be, not nearly as spacious as Longbourn or Lucas Lodge, but I hope you can be happy here. Fortunately, though, I am certain you shall appreciate the superior society afforded through our connection with Rosings, and the great attention I believe my wife will have from Lady Catherine."

I then helped her mount the stairs to view the three bedrooms. I showed her the guest rooms first, each neatly fitted up, before showing her to our chambers. I explained, "Originally I had thought to give you the bedroom immediately adjoining my own, but chanced to mention to Lady Catherine that I was not sure if it was appropriate for the mistress's chambers to be more humble than my own, which though plain have the advantage of additional space and two windows. She immediately insisted on coming back with me to review the arrangements of the parsonage. This was not the first occasion on which she deigned to visit, no indeed. Lady Catherine first visited the parsonage before I took up the post, to make sure it was suitable for a new occupant. Then she visited once again a week after I took up residence, very kindly observing and approving of the additional alterations I had made to it, but most properly advising me that I should add shelving to the upstairs closets as you can see I did. So when she visited last it was her third visit; she said she wished to view it afresh from the perspective that I would soon be bringing back a bride."

"How very gratifying you must find her attention," Charlotte remarked.

I smiled at her, before continuing, "Lady Catherine advised most strenuously that it would not do to have a separate chamber for my wife." At this point I felt myself blush and focused my eyes on the fresh wallpaper in what was from now on to be our joint chamber as I was scared of what Charlotte's reaction might be to this particular news.

I provided Lady Catherine's justification, while staring at a slight imperfection in a seam of the wallpaper. "She instructed, 'For marital felicity and to encourage the begetting of children, it is best if a husband and wife share the same room and bed each night.' She told me, 'If Sir Lewis had listened to me on this matter, I am sure I could have given him additional children to Anne and the ones who perished. I expect you to be steady to the purpose of filling that parsonage and you will need every extra chamber for those children. I shall have additional instructions for you both about how best to do this when you return with your bride.' She then gifted me with this large bed that you see before us. It survived the fire that resulted in the current Rosings, though the featherbed itself is new."

I had no fear that Charlotte would attempt to gainsay my decision to share a chamber (unlike how a certain cousin might have done), but I hoped she did not find it too distressing. Charlotte said nothing and I did not dare to look at her for a few moments.

Feeling embarrassed, I finally told her, "You may have a few minutes to refresh yourself." I pointed to one of two matching pieces of furniture that contained the necessaries, a his and her if you will, another one of Lady Catherine's improvements to the room but one that I was unwilling to discuss.

"I will do likewise down the hall." I was certainly not willing to do so beside her in this room at this juncture and perhaps not ever.

"Then I will send for our maid to receive your instructions for unpacking and settling your things into their proper places. As we discussed earlier, soon we must depart to walk to Rosings to advise Lady Catherine of our return and receive her kind advice. I would not be surprised if she should condescend to invite us to dine at Rosings this very night."

"Very well, Mr. Collins," she told me.

A few minutes later as we were walking to Rosings, I wished to dispel the awkward air between us. I decided now was the time for bestowing one of the elegant complements to my wife which I had occupied part of the time during our carriage ride in arranging. I considered my choices before stating the one I thought most apt for this time and place, attempting to give it with as unstudied an air as possible, though I will admit I could have edited it down.

I took up her gloved hand in my own, looked into her blue eyes and said, "Mrs. Collins, for these several weeks I have been counting the days, hours and even seconds until we would be bound before God in holy matrimony. I can hardly believe that it has now come to pass and am so gratified that you have made me the happiest of men. My dear wife, I am sure that now that you are here, what has merely been a house will now become a home. I shall be eternally grateful to have your beauty light up the space better than the brightest oil lamp ever could." I then flourished a kiss upon her gloved hand, half bowing in the process.

"I am glad to be here, too, my husband." She told me. "I have long wished to be the mistress of my own home and am pleased with all I have seen of it. I am delighted to know that the parsonage will now be my home."

While her words were pleasant, I could not help but notice that Charlotte had given no real complement to me, but tried to pay it no mind. After all, in complementing the parsonage, should I not conclude that she was also complementing me, who was the means of supplying it to her?

I had hope that Mrs. Collins might care for me a little. She was the one who sought me out at the Netherfield Ball, who accepted my attentions after my cousin Elizabeth so cruelly rejected me, and who seemed to deliberately come upon me in the lane as I approached her home. Such actions on her part had encouraged me to propose.

I recalled delivering my well rehearsed speech to Charlotte about why I should marry. It was not dissimilar to the one I gave my cousin Miss Elizabeth but for omitting all reference to choosing a wife from among Mr. Bennet's daughters.

I substituted in, "Given that I am the heir under the Longbourn entail, it seems only right to me that I should marry soon, to a lady who should be pleased to be settled quite near her parents, when my cousin Mr. Bennet receives his external reward, and who will most willingly seek to secure the succession of such an interest beyond my lifetime by bearing me male heirs. Seeing as how Mrs. Lucas has produced both sons and daughters, I am confident that you can do likewise. I am not adverse to some daughters, so long as there are sons, also."

When I finally paused for her reaction, she told me, "I am most gratified and pleased to accept your proposal." She was not as lovely as Miss Bennet or Miss Elizabeth, having a plainer face and less nubile body, but she was much kinder as she had chosen me and always most properly deferred to me.

And now, tonight, we could begin to engage in those activities which would result in children. Other than her companionship, it was the primary duty she owed me.

Such thoughts kept me occupied during our walk to Rosings, which was likely a great improvement to my chatter. Upon reaching the front I knocked and the front door was immediately opened. Of course I did not presume to enter her abode, but merely told the servant who answered my knock, "Please advise the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh that her rector Mr. Collins has returned to Hunsford with his bride this day and we have come as requested."

The servant advised, "Lady Catherine has been waiting for you, please come in."

Lady Catherine was indeed waiting for us in her salon. I made the appropriate introductions and Charlotte gave a deep and most respectful curtsy, which told me that she had indeed been listening when I told her that Lady Catherine prefers for the distinctions of rank to be preserved. Lady Catherine merely regally nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for us to sit down.

I was a little annoyed when Charlotte selected a chair rather than choosing to sit beside me on the sofa by which I was standing. But I was gratified in her manner of address towards Lady Catherine as it was most respectful.

Charlotte said, "I am very pleased to finally meet my husband's most generous benefactress. Lady Catherine, I understand that it was you who so carefully arranged the parsonage for our comfort and benefit."

Lady Catherine nodded. "It is only right that I see my rector receives what is due his station in life and that it is suitable for his wife. I should not have done half so much had he chosen someone beneath him."

She dismissed the servant who conveyed us to her and ordered, "Tell cook the Collinses will be dining with us. We must be undisturbed until dinner."

Lady Catherine then spent the next half hour questioning my wife about herself and her family. Lady Catherine must have been pleased as she told me, while looking between the two of us, "Mr. Collins you have done well. I advised you that as clergyman you should not long remain single and should soon marry as long as you acted with discretion in finding a wife. You appear to have chosen most properly in finding a gentlewoman who is an active, useful sort of person, not brought up too high and able to make a small income go a good way. She seems most modest and amiable, and properly deferential to her betters. Yes, she will do. Mr. Collins you are a fortunate man."

She turned decidedly towards me and said, "Knowing you as I do, Mr. Collins, I trust you followed my instructions to the letter and have not indulged in any fornication with your wife and she has remained in a chaste state."

I felt myself pink, but acknowledged, "I have obeyed all your commands, Lady Catherine."

She then turned toward Charlotte and asked, "Would not you agree with me Mrs. Collins, that men deserve as diligent instruction about their wedding night as women do, perhaps even more as they are to be in charge of the consummation?"

"Yes, certainly." The pitch of my wife's voice sounded off.

"Very good. As Mr. Collins's father is dead, and while he lived I understand he was hardly a good example of how a man should behave with his wife, I believe it falls to me to give him good instruction. Undoubtedly he can benefit from my wisdom which will include how he can best please you. My only question is whether you prefer to remain in the room, or would rather have me talk to first to Mr. Collins and then to you. I mean no disrespect to your dear mother, but from having discussed such matters with many of my tenants, it is most clear to me that many mothers give their daughters poor instruction as they themselves received."

I expected Charlotte to choose to remove herself, so she surprised me when she said, "I think we may benefit most from hearing jointly the wisdom you have for each of us."

A/N: I couldn't resist writing this short piece as a stand-alone. This story was inspired by the following paragraph that I added to and then edited out of a letter Mr. Collins wrote Darcy in my revision of _Vindicating a Man of Consequence_:

_After we returned to Hunsford on the occasion of our wedding, I was most gratified to immediately be invited for a dinner before we had yet spent even one night in our abode. We have both benefited greatly from Lady Catherine's diligent instruction and interest in our affairs. She instructed us on the best way for us to beget our children and on the proper way to care of our cows and poultry. We are most grateful and gratified by her interest in her lowly rector and his wife._

It got cut as, although it was humorous, the picture it painted of Lady Catherine just did not fit my interpretation of her for the _VMC_ story. However, it seemed to me that in the infinite variations of Lady Catherine that must exist, surely this fit one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

_Many thanks to my kind reviewers: gabyhyatt, Doris212, Alena,ebrillblaiddess, mariantoinette1, MerytonMiss, Gedoena, Guest, Guest and SunriseImagination. You spurred me on to completing this chapter more quickly than I planned._

* * *

**Chapter 2: Mrs. Collins's POV: The Arrangement of My Life as Lady Catherine Sees Fit**

During our engagement, Mr. Collins told me, many times, "It is most important that we show Lady Catherine every deference."

As we traveled to Kent he waxed especially eloquent on the subject. As it was obvious this was a most important topic to him, I tried my best to pay attention. However, I admit to being distracted as I was most aware of how much my life had changed and all that was now expected of me in my new role as wife.

It was one thing for me to make plans to secure a man who could offer me a comfortable household and then execute those plans, but it was quite another to now be faced with the realization that I was henceforth bound to Mr. Collins, his to command and dominate. As Mrs. Collins, I would now be his in the marital bed, mother of his future children. Riding in the carriage next to him, I admit I had some second thoughts and regrets.

I reminded myself: This is what I chose; far better to lead a useful life and become a mother than to wither as an old maid, a burden to my parents and then my brother. Mr. Collins is not vicious or cruel. He is not a man of excesses (other than excessive speech); he knows neither self depriving piety in which all food must be made plain and clothing simple, nor is he given to overindulgence, like drunkenness or gambling. His current position is ample and his expectations as good as may be.

He may not be the most pleasant fellow, but what is that to me? My parents each though good humored have some ridiculousness about them, Papa always talking on and on about St. James, Mama being like peas in a pod with Mrs. Bennet, seeing it as her primary duty to get her daughters married and failing so long with me.

Still it was hard not to think how Mr. Collins vastly exceeded them in ridiculousness. However, as I was his wife now, I resolved to do my best to listen to him and give him the respect that role (if not he himself) deserves.

Mr. Collins told me, "There are at least six reasons we must show Lady Catherine every deference, which I will now elucidate for you. First, Lady Catherine is due every respect based upon her noble blood and station in life. She is the daughter of an earl and the sister of another earl, she maintains her rank. Though her husband Lewis de Bourgh was untitled, his was a prestigious and ancient line worthy of her. As the Mistress of Rosings, she commands the utmost respect from all who know her. In every respect she is our better.

"Second, Lady Catherine is due every consideration as my most beneficent patroness who chose to pluck me from obscurity and grant me a living from her largess. By preferring me to the valuable rectory of her parish, she has done more for me than anyone else ever has and I will be eternally grateful for her beneficence. I owe her every loyalty and a lifetime of obedience.

"Third, going forward, all means for our entertainment and comfort that stem from my position are in her hands. While she cannot remove me from my post, she could make life very difficult and reduce our circumstances. We occupy a position where we are neither fish nor fowl. We are too removed above tenants, townsfolk and servants to associate with them beyond providing charity and commerce, but have not the means to be seen worthy to be invited to associate with the denizens of the great houses of the other estates. It is only through Lady Catherine's condescension that we shall have any company at all.

"Fourth, through her favor I may be advanced further in my profession. Lady Catherine has other livings to bestow. Bar our Lord and Savior, it is she who is most eminent and deserving of our adoration."

Mr. Collins may have continued on in such a vein onto reason number five and six. I do not rightly know as I began to imagine my husband kneeling at Lady Catherine's feet.

Although I had not yet seen her and could not really form a picture of her, I imagined Lady Catherine as tall, stately and self assured, sitting in an over-sized and elevated, almost throne-like chair, surrounded by attendants. Oddly enough in my imagination, from his knees Mr. Collins kissed her hand (as if she were the queen) and then tilting forward and down from his kneeling position he began kissing her feet. In response she made a backhanded flicking motion at him, dismissing him, giving him the brush off.

Then trembling, my husband crawled backwards out of her presence, apologizing, "Please forgive me Lady Catherine for daring to touch your person. Though it has been my earnest endeavor to demean myself with grateful respect toward your Ladyship, I am most unworthy. I am not even worthy to empty your chamber pots, but if you gave me such occupation I would consider myself the most fortunate of men as your night soil is practically royal night soil, vastly superior to mine. I became overwhelmed by merely being in your presence. I could not help but worship you like the dog I am."

When I became once again cognizant of my surroundings, we were approaching the parsonage. I impatiently waited for the carriage to stop and for Mr. Collins to help me out. I was really quite pleased with all I saw. The inside confirmed for me that I had made the right decision in marrying Mr. Collins and also made me realise that Mr. Collins was right about Lady Catherine. She certainly is a beneficent benefactress as things were arranged very practically so as to make the space comfortable. I ignored much of what Mr. Collins said, trying to let his words form a pleasant background noise akin to chirping crickets (undoubtedly he would make the same observations many times more and I would hear it all bit by bit in his additional recitations).

However, I paid more attention when we went upstairs to view the bedrooms and it is well that I did. Otherwise I might have missed him telling me that per Lady Catherine's decree, we were to share one room and one bed! I was ready to protest, but I could tell that Mr. Collins was rather uncomfortable even discussing this with me and so refrained from saying anything, thinking there would be time enough later to change his mind or hers. Or if need be, I could always retreat to another chamber after he did his business and fell asleep, as Mama told me men were wont to quickly do afterwards.

I was most curious to meet Lady Catherine and to see what further marital advice she wished to impart. I will admit that Rosings is rather impressive and grew even further so as we got closer to it. It was also very lavish on the inside.

As for Lady Catherine, in truth, she was rather as I expected. Though she had no elevated seat, she was tall, almost as tall as Mr. Collins, who almost seemed to shrink in her presence. Her locks were silver, thick and artfully arranged. Her tone and matter of address was imperious. It was most clear that she was used to her dictates being followed immediately and without question, as if they were commandments from God.

I did my best to be deferential to her and show her that I would be a most proper wife to Mr. Collins. I was glad to hear from her that she approved of me.

I listened closely when Lady Catherine stated that it was her duty to give my husband "good instruction" as to how he could best please me. I was most surprised that she gave me an option to be present or leave during this instruction.

When she stated, "I mean no disrespect to your dear mother, but . . . it is most clear to me that many mothers give their daughters poor instruction as they themselves received," I was immediately taken back to my mother's talk the night before, just after I had gone to bid my dear friend Elizabeth goodbye. I, of course, knew such a conversation was coming and at the age of twenty-seven felt I certainly knew as much as any maiden did.

I did not think it to be of any undue consequence. As a country maiden, I have certainly seen copulation between animals. Most times it only seems to take a few moments with the female animal quickly walking away none the worse.

My mother mostly gave me precious little additional information, only amplifying what I knew. She said, "Charlotte, once you are married, your body is no longer your own. It belongs to your husband and later also your children. You have seen how the beasts of the field come together. Men are just another sort of beast, though unfortunately as women have no specific season in which they produce their offspring, husbands feel the need to frequently rut. Just like cows, chickens, mares and like need merely stand still and submit, so it will be likewise with you, save for you will be lying on your back in bed with your legs splayed out, presenting yourself for his pleasure. Whatever size thing he comes at you with, it will fit, though it may hurt the first time and until you get used to it."

I imagined Mr. Collins poised over me. I had not much sense of what his body might be like under his layers of clothing, but for the fact that his belly protruded and he often smelled of sour sweat. Would he be unclothed or would he only bare the necessary appendage? Would he spend much time apologizing for his intrusion in introducing his sword into my sheathe, even though it was well justified by our marriage? Would he offer me string after string of flowery compliments as he took his pleasure, thrusting into me? I imagined he would be done far sooner than he would be finished expressing his regret or gratitude.

My mother was saying, "A woman's body is a wonder. After all, this self-same passage that delights a man will later accommodate a baby. Do your best to relax, yes easier said than done, and tell yourself, 'This is what is needed to obtain my children.' I have no doubt that you will give him sons; in this you shall be Mrs. Bennet's superior. Oh happy day when Miss Elizabeth decided she was too high and mighty for her father's heir. Mark my words, in a few years she will regret her choice."

My mother had never said anything about me being pleased, never so much as hinted at such a possibility. I wondered, what did Lady Catherine know that my mother did not?

I was also most curious as to what Lady Catherine planned to teach my husband. It had never occurred to me that a man might need a talk about what to do. Was it not all instinct like the beasts of the fields and the fowl? Heaven forbid that a man not know where it was to go!

And yet it was not too difficult to imagine it of Mr. Collins. I pictured him frantically pushing himself against my belly rather than inside of me with a look upon his face of both concentration and consternation. I imagined the mortification of having to tell him, "It does not go there. That is my belly button and not my passage," and then having to guide him to the appropriate locale myself. If he made such an error, would he then spend a good fifteen minutes apologizing to me the way he had when he accidentally referred to me as Miss Bennet?

The look that entered his eye then, when the words "Miss Bennet" escaped his mouth and on the very day we became engaged, it was a look of deep distress, of a naughty child's misdeed being found out. Then he had gone on and on in attempting to make amends. "Oh my dear Miss Lucas, my dear future Mrs. Collins and future mother of my children! I most humbly apologize for addressing you improperly. You cannot, will not, ever be mistaken for another. My wicked tongue deserves to be cut out as I hear the heathens do."

I remember picturing that, a tongueless Mr. Collins, unable to utter a single word. Undoubtedly, this would have disqualified him from his position and surely his bishop could have him replaced if he could not carry out his duties, but perhaps he could hire a curate to give the services instead? This might reduce our future living conditions to relative poverty, but might it not be worth it to never have to hear his drivel again? While he might still write his thoughts in unabridged form, I could certainly skim over the written word rather than be subjected to every blasted minute of hearing it.

I imagined working out a rudimentary system of communication with him for when no paper and ink were available: One squeeze of my hand (insert meandering compliment to Lady Catherine), two squeezes (insert meandering compliment to anyone else present and if no one else was present it would be to me), three squeezes (insert apology to anyone present for some imagined slight or bit of disrespect), one nudge ("My dear Mrs. Collins I must take myself off to use the necessary"), two nudges ("I must go and bother someone else for a protracted period of time"). I continued with my flight of fancy for quite some time, imagining how much more efficient such a system would be. Of course I could not wish for my future husband to be maimed, but wished instead that he might learn to speak less, to enjoy silence instead.

However, my imaginings were not long enough to match the length of his apology and eventually I was stuck listening to him again, "You, my darling, are more precious than rubies and nothing to my cousin. It is true that I did propose to Miss Elizabeth before you, but it was only a matter of duty and wishing to make amends for the entail. Those Miss Bennets have not your meekness and gentleness, well the elder Miss Bennet may similarly be gentle but I never truly considered her after Mrs. Bennet made it quite clear that her eldest daughter was likely to be very soon engaged. And really I have been calling all of my cousins Miss Bennet as it is difficult to keep them all straight in my mind, especially the two youngest. You and your sister show much more decorum. Yes, undoubtedly the Miss Lucases are vastly superior and it is a blessing to me that you will be my wife and they will be my family. Imagine, I should have gained no additional connections had Miss Elizabeth accepted my hand. So my tongue is wicked indeed to misspeak in such a manner. I beg of you, please forgive me this indiscretion. It will never happen again. There is only room in my heart for one woman, and you know who she is!"

Naturally, although by looking me straight in the eye Mr. Collins was implying the one woman in his heart was me, I could not help but think that the one woman undoubtedly in his heart was not me but Lady Catherine. It was of she, after all, that he was forever speaking. As to me, he could have no love but that which he imagined with no roots in reality.

Mr. Collins held my hand most sweetly, waiting, waiting for my acceptance of his apology. I responded, forcing my words to be gentle and patient and not let any hint of my irritation, not at being called Miss Bennet but from having to suffer through his protracted apology, escape in my expression, tone of voice or words. "As I told you earlier, Mr. Collins, I have no doubt that you intended no slight to me and I fully absolve you." There, perhaps that would be enough. It was not. He carried on a full five minutes longer. I was only rescued from his apology when my mother called for me.

Lady Catherine's advice was illuminating. She began as follows: "I summoned you both here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose, in educating you both about the marital bed. You may find it awkward, but I will not be dissuaded from my purpose. As you are now married, you can have no shyness in speaking of your marital duties and how best to accomplish them.

"It may be helpful to you for me to communicate my experience. By doing so I am granting you a rare boon and I am trusting that what I share shall not leave this room. Any betrayal of my confidence is not to be borne; your duty, honor and gratitude forbid any other outcome."

She fixed us both with a menacing stare and Mr. Collins squeaked out, "Neither I nor Mrs. Collins would ever dream of speaking of such a matter. We gratefully value your kind and gracious condescension." Almost without conscious thought I found myself agreeing. She is most fearsome; I would never wish to be in her black books. Mr. Collins continued to mutter on and on about his unworthiness and loyalty.

"Enough," she roared and he fell silent, "there is much I would tell you, but it will go better if you listen until I am through." She fixed her eyes upon my husband and added, "Mr. Collins, I am expecting silence from you."

I made a note of this. Could I, too, command his silence if I used an authoritative enough tone? It would bear exploring.

"Yes, Lady Catherine," Mr. Collins bowed his head and stared at the floor.

She regally nodded, and looked at me as she began. "Before my marriage I had not been used to submitting to any person's whims. As I was descended from a noble line, and my husband courted me most assiduously, even going so far as to steal some delightful kisses from me after we were betrothed, I expected that upon our marriage he would do his best to see to my every comfort both in and out of the marital bed. My mother had warned me this might not be the case, had told me how husbands could be, but I was convinced my husband would be different. However, I must say that on my wedding night I was sorely disappointed, sore being a most apt word. He had no care as to whether I was ready for his intrusion and seemed to have no notion that it could even be an activity which I could enjoy.

"Though of course as a young maiden I did not have any personal knowledge of the matter as to how it was to be with my husband, I knew I could certainly have more pleasure than he had given me. Thus on the morning after my wedding, when my Lewis was all set to take me again, I told him, 'I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment. Therefore, I insist on being satisfied before you.'

"Lewis was much confused, but fortunately was startled enough that he hesitated, giving me a chance to tell him what he needed to do. You see, the marital act is like a meal. No one, if he has the funds, would start with the main course. Instead, you would enjoy many dishes, working your way up to what is most expensive and delicious. You will see later, Mrs. Collins, that I set a very good table. It is likely you will see dishes that at Rosings that you have never tried before, with a variety of ingredients and of many styles."

I could see then that Mr. Collins was desirous of making a comment as his lips were parted. I have known him long enough that it was clear to me that it was distressing him greatly that he could not be praising Lady Catherine, her many dishes when he dined with her, and her kindness to us. This time she merely gave him a sharp look and his mouth snapped shut.

"Just as one does not want to eat the same meal every day, so it is with the marital act. While there is only one act which will lead to children, the preliminaries if you will, make the culmination that much better, for the both of you. I should also add that coupling may be achieved in several ways, each with its own unique pleasures.

I felt myself blush. The conversation was most astonishing and unexpected. While of course I knew about kissing, I could not imagine what else there might be. I had never considered that I might enjoy the act and what my husband would do. I was certainly hopeful in learning more, even if I doubted that my new husband would have any proficiency in such activities.

Lady Catherine continued, "My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerely and frankness, so I shall not dissemble in explaining just what it is you both need to know. Mr. Collins, I know you are particularly attached to your new bride and I know that Mrs. Collins is so very much attached to you. Therefore you must both wish to give pleasure to the other."

Mr. Collins vigorously nodded, apparently deciding that this would not be considered an interruption, and she proceeded without waiting for him to finish. He hung his head again.

"Cleanliness is most important and that includes the cleaning of teeth. Nothing is more distracting or distressing than a sour taste or smell. Kissing is not just for lips; kissing is for anyplace that feels good, touching likewise. By giving each other joy, you serve each other and prevent the temptation of self fornication and adultery. This, Mr. Collins, is why I urged you to marry."

Mr. Collins looked up at his name and gave his patroness his undivided attention. Perhaps this is why she focused her next words on him.

"Talking is all well and good during most activities, but I would strenuously urge you to avoid all unnecessary talk in your chambers. Talking gets in the way of listening and listen a husband must. A husband will have to use all his efforts to satisfy his wife and must listen to her tell him through the sounds she makes and the movement of her body what she enjoys most. A man is not the only one who can achieve ultimate satisfaction, but as women are more complicated creatures it is not so automatic with her. Any talking must be held to the minimum. For example, one word questions and answers will suffice if words are needed, but often I have found no words are necessary at all. For example, a wife could place her husband's hand where she wants it, and guide it with her own to show what she desires.

"Mr. Collins, I know it is important given the entail that Mrs. Collins gives you a son. It may interest you to know that in my experience the more delight a wife gains, the more likely she is to become with child. Furthermore, the greater her pleasure before the seed is planted, the more likely she is to bear you a son. It may take some time to learn what your wife enjoys, but you must put her first.

"I implore you to always be practicing. I often tell those to which I give advice on conducting their marital duties that no excellence in mutual satisfaction is to be acquired without constant practice. True mastery of basket making takes a lifetime and you cannot expect to excel if you do not practice a great deal. It cannot be done too much, unless one or the other of you should experience discomfort. Do not neglect it on any account.

"And Mrs. Collins," she fixed her hawk like stare at me, "do not be afraid to tell your husband what you fancy and what you wish to do without. Do not be afraid to initiate such activities. One reason I urged Mr. Collins to place you both in the same chamber (besides the indignity of you as his bride ending up in a much inferior chamber) is that it should not always be up to the man to decide when marital intimacies are to take place. I am convinced (I am excessively attentive to all things), that when a woman desires her husband the most . . . well that is the time that his seed is most likely to bear fruit.

"Now undoubtedly you have questions. You may be wondering, Mr. Collins, just how long you should take with these preliminaries before you make your wife yours. Certainly I understand that I man is eager to partake of his wife's commodity rather than toss off. My instructions on execution are that if at all possible you must take her to a state of ultimate bliss before you ever seek to intrude on her person. This may take several hours or may not be accomplished in a single day. Even a month is not unheard of. I expect, however, that you will do your best to obey me in this. Ice from the ice-house can calm your ardor if need be."

She fixed her eyes on me, "Mrs. Collins, you may be wondering where exactly Mr. Collins can kiss and caress you that will give you the most pleasure." She then turned toward him, "Mr. Collins, you must heed what I am saying now," before turning back to me. "Certainly the lips give pleasure but there are many places that can do so. There are few people in England, I suppose who have more true enjoyment of knowing what their bodies desire than myself, or have better natural taste. This is why I am giving you the most minute of instructions.

"A woman's dairy are not just for suckling her children (really that is what a wet nurse's teats are for, though I suppose you may not have the funds for this, when the time comes you may apply to me for financial help in obtaining a suitable nurse as I will know who has recently borne a child); a man can also take suck and much satisfaction may it give her, so long as he is not too rough."

I felt myself tempted to dive into imagining such a sensation and at that moment felt the press of that part of my body against my dress. Was I starting to feel desire where there had been no desire before? I wrenched myself away from exploring that thought as I was mindful that I needed to pay attention.

Lady Catherine was saying, "Too, there is a small bump at the apex of her sex that must not be neglected. The right touch or kiss there can drive a woman wild. It may be difficult to locate at first, but you must be diligent to seeking it out. Oh, and Mr. Collins, in addition to the sounds your wife makes, you must take note of what causes her passage to become wet. Her pleasure prepares her body for your intrusion, makes it ready if you will, but do not give in even if she entreats you to enter her, unless and until her body quivers in delight."

I could not help but try to imagine the bump she spoke of by pressing my legs together. I heard my breath speed up.

"Mrs. Collins, as I have said before, men's bodies are less complex. A man's pleasure is primarily found by giving attention to his member and the bawbles to be found beneath them. An appropriate touch or kiss there will give him much delight. That is not to say he may not also enjoy other touches.

"Do you both wish to know what besides the obvious is different between wives' and husbands' desires? Men do not need many courses. They are happy with their meat and potatoes, or here the equivalent, that you start and end with their tool and cods. Have you no more questions?"

She looked at me expectantly. I had the good sense not to point out that she had been the one asking all the questions and answering them too.

I did ask a couple of questions, but was all too soon interrupted by the knock of a servant who summoned us to dinner. Lady Catherine looked at first me and then Mr. Collins before saying, "I think you know enough to see you through this evening. But tomorrow you must be sure to come call on me to apprise me of your progress."

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_A/N. Although this work is now an "M" I do not plan to actually show the full physical depiction of the Collins's wedding night, but we will get some prelude in the next chapter._


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter went in an entirely different direction than I anticipated. It still isn't perfect, but I think you have waited long enough for an update.  
_

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**Chapter 3: Mr. Collins's POV: Powerful Temptations**

Listening to Lady Catherine's advice did something to me. While her talk was both mortifying and humbling, those feelings were dwarfed by another: lust.

While all my carnal desire should have been directed toward my wife (and my desire was focused there, too), the lion's share of it, at least then, was focused most exactly on my most beneficent patroness Lady Catherine. In listening to her frank discourse about marital acts, bound to be silent by her command, I could not help but note that although she was a little past the prime of life, she was still a most handsome woman, perhaps fifty to my five and twenty. She was vital and forceful and bold and I wanted her to take charge of my tackle and me.

Perhaps I had always lusted after Lady Catherine in a way. Her kindness, her attention to all details on my behalf, her willingness to condescend to grant me the living, me whom she did not even know, well it was powerful and heady stuff. But I had never exactly felt a physical desire for her before (at least not that I could recall or was willing to admit to myself), more a desire to be in her presence, as a plant desires the sun.

I admit to liking having Lady Catherine dictate what I should do. In this she reminds me of my grandmother, my mother's mother, who raised me for several years after my mother died. Grandmama had a small cottage on the outskirts of the village where Father lived. Grandmama's place was tiny, but everything was in its place and I had my own chamber with its narrow bed. When I lived with Grandmama I was busy all day long but everything ran smoothly. I was her helper: pulling up weeds from our kitchen garden, harvesting our vegetables, fetching and carrying for her, tending the fire. She worked hard as well, but her joints and most especially hands almost always ached. It was she who taught me my letters and numbers, using a fire blackened stick upon the hearth or sometimes tracing letters out in ashes she collected in a dish.

She taught me to spell my name when I was perhaps seven or eight years of age. She said, "I could make it simpler for you and have you just write 'Will,' or 'Bill' but my William you deserve all the dignity of your full name. You are going to be an important man one day, the sort of man that other men depend upon to get things done. She traced out "William" and then "Collins."

I remember pointing out to her, "Look Grandmama, both my names have two 'L's, and there are two 'I's in 'William' and one in 'Collins.' My names almost match, the 'M' is like the 'N.'" Then I traced over the letters before trying to write it myself. It took several attempts before I got it right.

Afterwards, she told me, "Well done, William. You are a clever one," and ruffled my hair. She did not praise me much; generally I knew she was pleased simply because she would hum and sing when happy.

During my younger years I saw very little of my father, but when I did see him he was often swaying and laughing at things that were not humorous. It was not until I was older that I understood this meant he was in his cups. He wore the same coat every day and it was ripped and frayed. He smelled like urine and rotting cabbage. He would often threaten to take me away from Grandmama, but then never did.

When Grandmama died I was no more than twelve years of age. I remember Father saying, "I suppose I have to take you in," and looking at me as if I was refuse. I remember struggling to drag my trunk after me. It was heavy with the things I wanted to keep from Grandmama's home; everything else was to be sold. Though he was a srong man, he did not help me, just yelled at me, "Go faster, Billy." By the time I reached the rented room that was to be my home, my hands both had blistered and the blisters popped.

The most precious of the items was a weathered Bible that Grandmama used to read to me from it every evening. It was her father's Bible. He was a younger son who made his living in the church. He was a William also. In the front of that Bible the other William had traced his family history starting with his grandparents and she had picked up where he left off, even recording my parents' marriage, my birth and the date of my mother's death.

Father was angry when he found out that the proceeds from the sale of Grandmama's home and her remaining marital settlement had been placed in trust for me to further my education. He took out his anger on me, repeatedly cuffing me about the ears.

I tried my best to please Father and was always trying to flatter and appease him with my words. It seemed to make some difference, but how much I am not sure. I used to spend a long time trying to think up compliments to offer him, though it was a challenge to do so as there was nothing much to admire about him. However, he was very proud of his tall body and his strength (he worked for a blacksmith sometimes or a farrier when he needed money).

It was easier to say things like, "Father I bet you could lift a horse all by yourself; that is how strong you are" or "Father, you must be taller than everyone else in our village, taller than the king and all his men." However, the compliments he truly craved were about how intelligent he was, even though he had never learned to read, write or figure. It was hard to deliver them with the sincerity he seemed to crave.

He often said, "Billy, do you think yourself is better than me, with all your proper words? Billy you is just a sniveling little boot-licker ain't you?"

"Oh not, not at all Father." I would quickly reassure him. "I know you are far more clever than me and much stronger too."

Sometimes he would say things like, "I think I shoulda picked a different mudder for you, Billy-boy, 'cause you turned out sucha scrawny lil' thing. I could crush you with one hand, easy."

I knew enough to know that the problem was likely not what I had inherited from my mother, but that Father did not feed me properly. In that first year I was with him I became gaunt and the clothes I had that had fit properly before hung on me. But I could not tell him that it was his fault. He did not like to be corrected about anything and was certain to be the most angry when it was most certain to be true.

Father was fond of strong drink and when drinking had no need for food, so consequentially there was often none in our rented room. When he did bring food home, he usually devoured most of it himself, leaving me to eat his leavings.

When I made the mistake one time of telling him I was hungry, he told me, "Well, then we will sell your grandmother's big book," (he never called it a Bible). That was his answer anytime I lacked something, but I always told him I did not need whatever it was. Her Bible was the one thing I could not do without.

I used to help our neighbors with chores so they might offer me a chunk of bread, or perhaps a hard boiled egg. I always devoured it on the spot, fearful that if I brought it home and Father was about he would take it from me. How I longed for Grandmama's garden, her little orchard of apple trees and her root cellar that was always well provisioned from our harvest of the previous year!

I remember when I was about fourteen, Mr. Bennet came to see my father. Mr. Bennet was well dressed, better than anyone I had seen before. Father was not home and I was embarrassed that I had nothing to offer him, not even twice brewed tea. I covered up my embarrassment by apologizing profusely for the lack of any refreshments.

He let me talk on and on before finally asking, "When will your father be home?"

I did not know what to answer and must have seemed a simpleton when I answered, "I do not know."

Mr. Bennet invited me to take tea in the village and bought a number of little cakes and biscuits. I wanted them so much, but fully expected that he would eat them all as my father would have. He took one and slowly ate it and then asked, "Do you have no appetite, son?"

I told him, "Excuse me sir, I certainly would like any of the cake and biscuits you do not plan to eat. They look just lovely, but I would not presume to eat any without your say so."

In my mind I feared it was some trick.

He told me, "It seems to me that you could do with a bit of a treat. I have ordered far too much for me alone."

Tentatively I took hold of the nearest biscuit and forced myself to take tiny bites when I really wished to cram it all into my mouth at once. I remember the flavor was most wonderful, it was sugary and lemony and I could taste the butter. It tasted nothing like the fare I was accustomed to eating.

Mr. Bennet asked me many questions and I answered truthfully while bit by bit I consumed all of the cakes and biscuits. During the course of this interview, for that was what it was, Mr. Bennet learned that my grandmother had left money in trust for my education but as of yet I had no schooling. After our tea he took me to see one of the trustees. I sat outside the office while Mr. Bennet spoke with him. Afterwards Mr. Jacob came out and told me that I would be starting school in the fall and told me to come back to see him in August.

Then we went back home. Father had come home in the interim and was well disguised. He slurred his words as he berated me for not being home. He motioned for me to come close, which I did though I knew what was coming, another cuffing.

After the first blow landed, Mr. Bennet pulled me away and declared, "You shall not hit that boy. He has done nothing."

Father said, and this I shall never forget. "If you want 'im, you can take 'im."

I had a brief flutter of hope that Mr. Bennet might indeed take me with him. I could not but imagine that his servants lived far better than I did.

Mr. Bennet replied, "He is not my responsibility; he is your son."

Whatever business Mr. Bennet had with my father was apparently already through before it began, as Mr. Bennet slammed a piece of paper down on our rickety table and left.

Father demanded I read it to him and I did as best I could, but I did not understand it, not one bit, and my father seemed to have no understanding either.

The following day when he was nursing a headache but was more or less himself, Father had me read it to him again. Then we both went to see Mr. Jacob. He explained that an entail meant that we could inherit Longbourn, the estate that belonged to Mr. Bennet, as he had no son. My father was awfully glad about that and blessed his good fortune. However, then Mr. Jacob told him that Mr. Bennet had brought it to his attention that I ought to be at school as Grandmother had provided.

Father seemed to accept the news well, although I could tell he was angry by the way he clenched his jaw. After we got home, Father said, "You shouldna talk to anybody else 'bout our business. You ain't gonna go to school, itsa waste a money. When you get to one and twenty you'll give that money to me."

I started saying, "But Mr. Jacob said . . ." but was silenced when Father started hitting me. I received one of the worst beatings of my life. My face and body was a mass of bruises and I knew I was fortunate that it seemed that no vital bones were broken, though afterwards my ribs hurt with every breath I took for more than a month.

However, in the end there was nothing that father could do, but to direct his hatred towards Mr. Bennet. He instructed, "You'll never have nothing more to do with the likes of Mr. Bennet while I am still here."

Of course I agreed, but when August came I went to see Mr. Jacob. He arranged for when I was to leave. I took everything I owed with me. I did not trust that anything would remain if I left it behind.

Father did not deserve my loyalty, but I honored his wishes. It was not hard to do. Mr. Bennet could have done more to help me, but he chose not to.

I thought when I visited Longbourn having gained the valuable living from the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I would be worthy of being part of his family. But I was so nervous I babbled more than ever and made myself truly ridiculous in his eyes. However, he had no interest in learning anything about me but what was on the surface and found me unworthy of his daughter.

But while Mr. Bennet does not care about me, Lady Catherine does. I am certain of that. She deserves my loyalty. And so, I am always eager to praise her, defer to her, and submit to her in all things, with pleasure.

On this evening when Lady Catherine talked of her wedding night and the morning after, I imagined how I might have acted if I myself had been there. Not as her husband, Lewis de Bourgh, but as someone more humble. Perhaps his valet, perhaps as the under gardener, perhaps the stable boy who spied upon them. Then later, when she was alone and crying over how Mr. de Bourgh failed to satisfy her, had not even tried (though in truth I doubt she would have cried over this), I would have crept in and offered, "My most noble mistress, I will do anything for you, if only you will let me do it!"

It was easy in looking at Lady Catherine now to imagine her in her younger years. There was a portrait of her in one of the great halls of Rosings when she was perhaps my own age and it was easy to identify her in it as she had not changed that much. In the portrait she was seated in the center of the painting, her husband behind her, hands grasping just beneath artichoke shaped finials atop her chair, a toddling Miss de Bourgh standing to her side and leaning upon her lap while Lady Catherine's left arm gently encircled her. On the right side of her lap, there was a baby propped in the crook of her arm. This must be one of the lost infants she had mentioned to us.

Those were the objective details, but even flanked as she was by her family, the artist had highlighted Lady Catherine in all her loveliness. She had dark hair arranged magnificently in a sort of crown, with large ostrich feathers accenting it. Her eyes were blue and both hard and soft; she stared out of the painting; she stared at me. Her lips were pink, her cheeks had a faint blush and her amber colored dress showed just a hint of decolletage, just enough to make me wish the woman in the portrait was flesh and blood and I could lean close and peek at what lay beneath.

It was this Lady Catherine that should have been the object of my lust, but it was not. It was older, thicker, imperious, commanding, demanding one with the silver hair that I obeyed every day. She was so bold and unashamed, in instructing us as to how to go about our marital duties, and I wanted that for myself.

There was something alluring about the idea of being with my patroness instead of my maiden wife. The whole course of my interactions with Lady Catherine had taught me that she would tell me without a moment's hesitation just what she wanted me to do, and from the authoritative way that she instructed us, I knew it would be just the same when it came to pleasures of the flesh.

But I knew all too well that such thoughts were wrong. I was not to lust after another man's wife and though Lewis de Bourgh was gone, she was still his until and unless she married another. But as she had not married in the twenty or so years that he had been gone, I doubted she ever would. It was logical that she not do so; she ruled as the titular head of her estate and neighborhood, undisputed, unchallenged. She would not give that up, would not voluntarily make what was hers another's; no man would ever rule her again.

Too, I had my own bride that I should not betray even if it was only in my mind. In even having such thoughts, I was thereby an adulterer in my heart. Charlotte did not deserve that. She deserved my unwavering devotion. I could only have one bride.

However even if I were still single, it never would have been possible to be with Lady Catherine in such a way. There was the great chasm of her consequence, her noble blood, the privileges of rank and wealth. There was my duty as a member of the clergy to try and be above reproach (though not all that served the Church of England were). What really could I offer her besides my unwavering obedience which she already had?

Lady Catherine was no merry widow. She did not flirt. Her eyes never lingered on me or on any men besides what was proper.

I knew enough of Lady Catherine to be absolutely certain that if she wanted anything of me in a physical sense that she would have never urged me to marry. I could not have Lady Catherine, could never have Lady Catherine; this much was clear. I resolved that I needed to turn my thoughts from Lady Catherine to my wife.

In trying to direct my thoughts along more appropriate lines, I tried to imagine giving pleasure to Charlotte. But when I thought about such a task, I felt inadequate and incapable. During the days leading up to our wedding, I often worried about being fumbling and inept and awkward, especially the first time we would come together as husband and wife. The only consolation I previously had in my self-defeating thoughts about our first coupling was that at least my dear wife would likely know far less than me about what to expect. Now I was certain that I would be a complete failure in the marital bed, especially as my patroness had raised my dear wife's expectations to an unreasonable degree.

During dinner my thoughts were much confused. As is usual, Lady Catherine spoke the most. She seemed completely unaffected by our previous topic of conversation, sitting ramrod straight in her seat, unruffled in her blue dress.

She told Charlotte, "I think you will be most pleased with the current neighborhood that you now call your home. The gardens of all of the homes are well tended, the tenants grateful, the crops bountiful. You are certainly welcome to take any walks you might like through my gardens; as for the others, I can certainly secure you invitations for similar privileges there."

"I am most grateful," Charlotte enthused. She, too, seemed unaffected by our previous conversation. "I cannot but think, that given what I have seen of Rosings that I have no need to walk in other gardens."

Lady Catherine nodded to herself, "Yes, Rosings is very extensive. It being January nothing of course is in bloom, but as the seasons wear on I think you will find it most magnificent indeed."

I offered, my sweaty, shaky hands well concealed under the table, "Lady Catherine, there can be no other gardens to compare to the lusciousness of Rosings as directed by your hand." It was a relief to be able to freely praise her, to no longer be restricted to head nods.

I added, directing my comment to Charlotte, "Lady Catherine has more than twenty men solely devoted to tending the gardens here."

"Twenty-three at present, though this time of year I set them to other tasks," Lady Catherine corrected. "I employ hundreds to work the land proper for the crops. Proper diligence is necessary to have a grand garden. Weeds are pulled practically before their heads emerge, hedges trimmed when only a few leaves are out of line."

She then seemed content to let me add many other compliments. I waxed almost poetic about how the flowers would burst forth in the spring (though indeed I had not been present in the spring to see this occur) and how the bees would visit them first.

I concluded my monologue by praising, "During spring and summer I expect it is almost a Garden of Eden here in Kent, and if it be the Garden of Eden, surely Rosings's gardens are at the center."

Lady Catherine seemed most gratified by my compliments and during the brief period of silence that followed these, I reflected on my most recent words. In the garden Adam and Eve had been naked and unafraid, but temptation had led to their downfall. I needed to keep any thoughts I had about Lady Catherine entirely to myself to prevent my own downfall. I could not but think Lady Catherine would be most horrified to learn what I had been thinking.

And then I had the solution right before me as explained by Paul. Man was to marry rather than burn with lust and go to hell. I uttered a silent prayer just then, "Oh Lord, take these most improper and lustful thoughts about Lady Catherine away. I know it is only right and proper that I serve my benefactress to the best of my ability, she is so very affable and kind to me, and it is a betrayal of her to think of her in a lascivious way. While I serve her, please help me always observe every propriety. I need your help now, Lord. Let me be fully devoted to Mrs. Collins, to only desire her, to only wish to worship only her body with my own. I beg of you, let me have eyes for none but her. If I must be filled with lust, please make it be for Charlotte alone. Also, please help me to please my wife when set to such a task. Amen."

I looked over at Charlotte then and it seemed that the Lord had answered my prayer as I found myself greatly desiring her. It is of course not to be censured that a husband may have carnal thoughts about his wife. Such is most normal and proper and much more appropriate than my other thoughts had been.

I imagined kissing Charlotte's lips and then kissing down her neck and chest to those protuberances which I always thought had the sole function of feeding babies. What would it be like to take suck? Would Charlotte indeed enjoy such an activity? Perhaps this was where I should start to please her and with my lips and mouth thus occupied I would be most unlikely to be tempted to speak.

I imagined running my hands along Charlotte's body and searching for those key locations at the apex of her thighs with my fingers and eyes. First, for the one I had of course long known about, which would both accommodate me and bear our children, and second for the more secret one which was the key to her pleasure. Such thoughts were enough to cause a stirring in my breeches.

Charlotte caught me looking at her and blushed. It was most becoming. She looked pretty in that moment (and of course her appearance was at its best in candlelight as everything is softened and also, her lips covered her unfortunate teeth).

I imagined making Charlotte quiver and cry out in pleasure, until she begged me for relief. Then I would slide between her thighs and give her a good rogering. My breeches began to feel much tighter.

As I looked at Charlotte, I saw her eyes rake over me and answered her blush with one of my own. She was looking at me differently now, differently than she ever had before. I wondered, was she thinking of what I could do for her or what she could do for me? The problem in my breeches became more paramount.

I knew I needed to focus my eyes elsewhere, to cause said problem to recede. I was most worried now that I would embarrass myself as the dinner was almost over and it would be time to rise when Lady Catherine did.

As I had been silent for perhaps five minutes as Lady Catherine spoke, I looked down at my plate and considered what previously prepared compliment (from my storehouse of compliments) would be most apt for me to deliver when there was an opening in her speech. I had already praised the food extensively, her good taste, her kindness to me and Charlotte in all she had done for us (not neglecting to mention her attentions to the parsonage, hosting us for dinner and the giving to us of most helpful advice), the grandness of her home, her forbearance (she had been complaining about a tenant who did not seem to know how to properly address her and had called her Mrs. de Bourgh), and her attention to Miss de Bourgh's health. For once I was at a loss, though of course I supposed I could always embroider further on a complement of yore.

I made the mistake then of looking at Lady Catherine (she had seated me at the end of the table opposite her, as if I were Mr. Lewis de Bourgh). Perhaps it was my awareness of the fact that I was in the seat her dear husband would have occupied if he was still alive, or perhaps it her instructions earlier, or perhaps it was simply because my ardor had yet to cool, but I felt myself once again looking at her as a man looks at a woman.

I was most relieved that after dinner concluded, rather than remaining for an evening of entertainment Lady Catherine announced to us, "Mr. and Mrs. Collins, I have sent for the carriage to convey you home. You must be most tired from your journey and wish to take yourselves home and off to bed." She said this most plainly, as if two hours ago she had not just instructed us as to what was to take place in said bed, ignoring the evidence of my desire which remained on full display.

During the carriage ride home, I filled the air with words. The more words I said, the smaller my problem became until finally like a snail into its shell it receded almost entirely.

"My dear wife, is not our situation with Lady Catherine all that I promised and more? It is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast, to have a patroness so concerned with our marital felicity. You see what footing we are on to have such great attentions paid to us. Her ladyship instructed us as if we were her own dear children." I went on and on in such a manner, only halting for a moment to thank the coachman and request that he pass on our thanks to the great lady herself.

I continued to talk as I conveyed Charlotte into our home and asked her to sit down. Then I went to find our maid. Mrs. Bates was older and somewhat crotchety. I asked, "Bates, did you get all of Mrs. Collins's things arranged?"

She nodded and then complained, "It was an awful lot of work. What does she need with all those things? That mirror was very heavy and I only just finished getting everything put away. I am ready to take myself home." It was a measure of economy that our maid, a woman of advancing years who had served the previous rector as well, did not live in our home.

I did not think she would be pleased about what I wanted from her, but as I was more afraid of disobeying my patroness than about Mrs. Bates's grousing, I ordered, "Set water to boiling and prepare Mrs. Collins's bath."

She put her hands on her hips and protested, "I ain't hauling all that water myself or the bathtub anywhere neither. The boy that helps is gone already and I am too old for such a task, which is properly assigned to a footman. Did you not bathe this week already?"

I knew for a fact that Lady Catherine would have never put up with Mrs. Bates acting this way, but she did have a point that hauling water was not her usual task . . . After a few fruitless exchanges back and forth, I found myself hauling all the water that would be warmed to fill the bathtub that sat in the kitchen. I knew my muscles would be aching on the morrow, but what else was I to do?

I returned to my wife and told her, "We will of course obey Lady Catherine's instruction as to cleanliness. Mrs. Bates is even now preparing your bath in the kitchen. You will take your bath first as I wait elsewhere. Then I would be pleased if you return to our chambers so I can do likewise."

I did my best to keep busy, looking over the sermon notes I made before my departure to Meryton, anticipating that I would not have much time to plan my next sermon upon our return. However, it was difficult to keep my thoughts on anything but the thought that my wife was even now readying herself for the rest of the evening. I could not help but picture her naked in cast iron tub, surrounded by bubbles that were obscuring what I wished most to see.

What seemed like an inordinate amount of time later, Bates knocked and told me through the door, "The missus is finished, the water is all yours. I am off now."

When I reached the tub I was in for some disappointment. The tub contained only perhaps a foot of water and there were still full buckets that I had hauled sitting on the floor. I did my best to get clean in the tub with the water Charlotte had used and the washball. The water was still a bit warm and I most vigorously used the soap, eager to eliminate any hint of odor. I also used the edge of a flannel to clean my teeth, chewed upon a bit of dried mint, and swished out my mouth. I finally concluded by standing up in all my glory and dumping two buckets of the cold water down on my soaped head. Afterwards I dried myself with flannel which I then wrapped around myself as I had neglected to consider asking Bates to fetch me a night shirt or a dressing gown and I was loathe to redress in my clothes, on which some stink lingered.

When I reached my chamber, I notice by the light of a single candle that Charlotte was already occupying our bed, clothed in her nightgown with her hair braided. I told her, "Please close your eyes, I am going to put on my nightshirt."

When I was dressed for bed, I slipped in the other side under the covers. We lay there facing each other, with some space between us. For once, I had no idea what I should say.

She was apparently uncomfortable with the silence as she finally commented, "Mr. Collins, I think I would like to try kissing. Would you?"


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear reviewers, I am overwhelmed that I received so many reviews for the last two chapters. To me this was a little throw-away idea, so your interest is both unexpected and most welcome. Many thanks to: liysyl, Lily, Lisa, Guest, ThinkAboutItBabe, nanciellen, abujoe, ebrillblaiddes, TheLadyisaFox, Guest, Lee3619, gabyhyatt, SunriseImagination, MerytonMiss and Jansfamily4. Poor Mr. Collins, the longer I have worked on this chapter, the worse things have gotten for him._

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**Chapter 4: Mrs. Collins's POV: I Did Not Know My Husband**

From the dim illumination of my candle by the bed and the fire in the fireplace a few feet from the foot of the bed, everything seemed grey and softened, even Mr. Collins as he lifted up the side of the covers so as to climb into the bed. We looked at each other for a time. There was something intense in just looking at the other.

The way my mother had described things, I had expected my husband to pounce upon me. He did not. Instead he just regarded me in solemn silence from the edge of the bed. While I had worried about Mr. Collins talking too much at such a time and had been pleased why Lady Catherine had told him that silence was most desirable, I now wondered whether a little talk might not be superior.

Finally, though, remembering that Lady Catherine said I ought to ask for what I desired, I thought about what that might be. Other than simply having the whole thing over with (I always preferred to down the apothecary's bitter concoctions as fast as I could), there was one thing I was curious about, what it would be like to kiss. Kissing was the stuff of romantic novels after all and I had half expected to be kissed at our wedding (but was partially relieved that I was not).

I tried out several formulations in my head, before I finally said, "Mr. Collins, I think I would like to try kissing. Would you?"

I had not realized that Mr. Collins was nervous until his shoulders visibly relaxed when I suggested that we kiss. Rather than answering with words, he nodded and then leaned slightly forward. I noticed as he did so that he smelled of soap and mint. Ultimately, it remained up to me to bridge the large span between us as Mr. Collins had not moved forward more than an inch or two.

I was both nervous and fearful but added to that, after Lady Catherine's instructions, I also felt anticipation about what could be. And now it was to start with our first kiss.

At the beginning our lips barely grazed each other, but with even that minor touch his eyes widened. I then understood something about my husband that I had not known before. He was as innocent as I!

Once I realized this, my fear subsided. As I was his elder by two years, I decided it was up to me to be the brave one.

I pressed my lips more firmly against his and slid one hand along his face. He trembled slightly, but tentatively raised his own hand to do the same to me. As I pushed myself a bit closer to him, he backed up a bit, and tumbled from the bed. "Ooof!"

I found myself peering over the edge of the unstable feather bed at his prone form, flat on his back, but fortunately cushioned a bit by a rug. "Are you well, Mr. Collins?"

He nodded. As he began to sit up, I could see the outline of his prominent protuberance through his white nightshirt until he bent sufficiently that the gathered fabric concealed it. "I . . . I . . ." For once, Mr. Collins seemed rendered speechless.

He stood up and asked, his voice awkwardly strained. "Do you think you could move over more and stay on your side of the bed?"

I then understood that not only was my husband an innocent, but he was terrified of me feeling the evidence of his interest against me, at least as this junction. I scooted well back, though not so far back as to risk tumbling from my side of the bed.

Once he regained the bed, I asked, "Shall we try that again?"

This time he angled his torso forward toward me, though I noted he kept his hips well away from me. Again, I started the kiss. His mouth was soft, but closed. I deepened the kiss, feeling a little wonderment in how good it felt and how it made me wish to be closer to him. Mr. Collins was still holding himself carefully away from me, so I again took the initiative and pushed myself against him. He gasped a little through our kiss as I pressed into him. Although we were both in our night clothes, the fabric was thin and through both layers I felt my breasts being squeezed against his chest and his belly pressing against mine. I was glad that his middle was not as large with him lying down as I feared it would be, but I felt something else, jutting out from him. It could only be his tool. Somehow I felt more at ease in having the proof of how much my husband desired me.

I, of course, did not know what I would like, but I was most keen to find out and Mr. Collins seemed willing (though hesitant to presume much familiarity) to be of use to me in such a way. Fortunately given Lady Catherine's good instruction, I had some ideas of what to have him try.

However before we did much more than kiss and touch each other through our night clothes, unexpectedly I both felt and heard a loud gurgle from his middle and saw a look of great distress upon his face. He suddenly turned away from me and burst out of our bed holding his abdomen and running in the direction of the closest necessary.

Having used the identical one next to it earlier when I refreshed myself, I was well familiar with its contents. While it was disguised to look like a wardrobe, it contained a porcelain bowl set into a large wide shelf, covered by a matching lid. To the side of it on the shelf, was a small container of ashes and a stack of rags. While there were some shelves below it for storage, there was nothing above it so that one could sit with comfort across the bowl.

In the brief interval in which Mr. Collins threw open the door, flung off the lid with a clatter, hitched up his nightshirt in the rear and perched himself, he burped several times and then exclaimed, "I am sorry!" before I heard the sound of him breaking wind (many short and long bursts) and then a gurgling and squirting sound as one might make when their offal was more mud than dirt. This was followed by a most foul stench that was so strong that it set my eyes to watering.

He saw me staring at him and, looking most horrified, exclaimed, "Look away!"

I turned away and pinched my nostrils. I did not think to stopper my ears with the pillow and thus heard a series of grunts, followed by more squirting sounds. I tried to breathe through the blanket, but it was too thick, so I settled for resting it loosely over my mouth and breathing in that way. Even so, I could still half taste the odor on my tongue. This went on for some time. However, finally he must have felt better as I heard him jump down and then later the faint clink of the lid being closed.

But the worst was yet to come. He began giving me a long, babbling apology. "My dear wife, I am most distressed in not being able to restrain my body from misbehaving in such a way. I offer you my most abject apology that you had to hear it making such sounds. Indeed I had no intent to do that at all in your presence and especially not now. I know it to be most uncouth and most improper, but my body can be rather sensitive to rich foods and sometimes reacts most poorly when I am nervous. I cannot offend Lady Catherine, when she is so beneficent to invite me and now us to dine, by not partaking of them. It is most important to try every dish and freely give her the praise she deserves and I truly do enjoy most all her delicacies, they are not the best things for me. When combined with all the events of the last day and what with the talk earlier it must all have been too much." He continued on in this vein for quite some minutes, but mercifully as he was talking I heard him opening the windows in our chamber followed by gusts of cold air that smelled of snow.

I turned toward him then as it felt odd to not be facing him as he continued to make his most lengthy apology to me. I did my best to keep my expression neutral. He kept talking on and on. As he talked he picked up the lidded porcelain container and I had the momentary distressing thought that he was bringing it for me to dispose of its foul contents.

My face must have shown my dismay and disgust because finally he gasped out, "I am so sorry to have caused you such distress!" and bolted from the room. His wide eyes, with their whites prominently showing reminded me of nothing so much as a wild, bolting horse. He slammed our chamber door closed behind him and I heard him running down the stairs.

Then I waited and waited. I thought through how long it would take him to dispose of the offal, to perhaps take another bath and all the rest of what he might have needed to do. Occasionally I heard slight squeaks to the floorboards as if he were walking about, and I thought at one point I heard the stairs. But eventually I came to the conclusion that he did not intent to rejoin me this night.

I felt a bit of confusion and consternation. What had happened was embarrassing to be sure, but why was he staying away? I felt self doubt. Was I not desirable to him?

I was mighty tired from our long day (plus the fact that I had hardly slept the night before, being both excited to be married and to start my new life, and being fearful of what my wifely duties would entail). I considered trying to sleep, but I was well awake between the cold and my conscience pricking me. I finally determined that as I was Mr. Collins's wife, I should be attending to him.

I got up, slung my dressing gown around me and closed the windows. The room smelled clean again by now, but the dying fire did little to keep the room warm with the chill from the open windows having settled about the room. With the flame from my candle, I lit a second candle, which was already well seated in the candle stick holder. Grasping the holder, I set out to find my husband.

My feet felt loud to me as I crept down the hall to check the guest rooms. I opened the first guestroom and in the illuminating circle of light saw the nothing was disturbed. In the second guest room, I found a large lump in the bed, facing away from me.

"Mr. Collins?" I cried, feeling a momentary bit of doubt that it might be someone else.

He did not turn, but replied, "I am fine," in a tone that told me he was anything but, and then added, "you need not concern yourself."

But I was concerned. This was my husband and he was obviously still upset. The room was cold. Though there was wood in the fireplace, it remained unlit. I walked around the bed until I was facing him. I set the candle down on a table and then pulled back the covers to climb into the bed.

He pulled back a little as I climbed in. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I want to talk to you and this room is too cold. Our room is cold as well. Why did you not come back to our bed."

He shrugged.

"You feel better now, I hope, and are not suffering any more digestive upset."

He nodded.

I held out my arms, "Come here."

He obediently moved into my arms, nestling his head against my neck. I held him and stroked his back as I had held and stroked my younger siblings when they were upset.

"I am sorry," he told me, his voice thick with emotion.

"About what? Getting sick? You could not help that," though it seemed to me he could have refrained from eating those dishes that disagreed with him I understood why he had not. "About hiding away from you wife and making her think that she is undesirable?"

"No, never think that." He pulled away from me and up so that we were facing each other once again. "You are everything very desirable to me, Charlotte. I know you will be a wonderful wife." He seemed genuine in what he was saying, which I much preferred to all the flowery compliments I had received during our engagement. "I wanted to come back to our bed to try again to give you pleasure, but I was afraid you were disgusted with me. I bathed again and am once again clean, but I did not have a new nightshirt to put on."

"So let us try again," I declared. "If you are worried your nightshirt might not be clean, you may take it off."

"No, I, I do not think that is a good idea; I am afraid it will be too much for me. Does our chamber smell all right now?" I nodded, "I would rather us both go back there."

We walked back to our chambers, my hand on his arm, my other hand holding the candlestick. Even though I had closed the windows, it was still very cold. So while I removed my dressing gown and got back in bed, Mr. Collins added a fat log and kindling to the fire. Soon flames began to lick around the new log and I was confident it would catch soon. Once again Mr. Collins asked me not to look as he changed his nightshirt. However, I confess that I peeked. He was facing away from me so I did not see that part of his anatomy which differs so much from my own, but I did note that his shoulders were broad, his bottom round and he had a fair amount of hair on his legs and a little patch of it on his backside.

Thinking that we might be easier with each other in darkness, when he returned to the bed I blew out the candles. It was not completely dark as the fire still blazed, but I knew that as the night wore on that eventually it would be nothing but darkened coals. The night resumed with me once again taking the initiative to begin with kissing, but things progressed rather faster this time as my body seemed to remember our earlier activities.

My body before this evening always felt like something I should care for that also cared for me, akin to a placid pack animal, which must be fed, bathed and tended when sick, so it could do its duty in carrying my mind around. While I had certainly felt physical pleasures before, they consisted of things like eating a ripe fig and feeling the flavor spread through my mouth or soaking in a warm tub of water on a cold night. I have also felt pleasures of the mind which caused a physical reaction, such as receiving an unexpected gift and feeling excitement ripple through me (and when I was a young girl, this excitement causing my body to lift itself and jump about in a most unseemly manner) or the pleasure of having a jolly conversation with my friend Elizabeth. But all those things were far different. What I soon discovered was that my husband's tentative touches through my night gown awoke a physical beast deep within me that had its own appetites.

As the night progressed, I found that Mr. Collins much preferred for me to direct him and when I did so he most eagerly complied. Thus I went from tentatively suggesting, to requesting, to ordering.

Even as I gave myself over to my desires, I felt wonderment in discovering that there was something that in all my twenty-seven years I had not known about myself. I do not think I would have been as free in doing so, had not the awakened beast, which seemed to dwell within my belly, with lines stretching out to my lips, breasts and down below, not been so insistent in craving more and more. Thus after having been most thoroughly kissed and gently touched on my breasts and bottom, with no shame I shed my garment (he could not see me anyway in the dark) and urged Mr. Collins to use his lips and tongue elsewhere. He seemed to gain confidence when he felt me shudder, even more so when he touched me there and felt how wet I had become.

By this time, I was pressed most firmly against him and could feel his hardness against my hip. When he touched me, I had tried touching him, but he immediately removed my hand and in a slight scolding tone told me, "It is too much."

Though I do not believe I reached that pinnacle of delight that Lady Catherine suggested that I might, I felt more than ready to become his wife through the deed that was to unite us. Therefore, I took pity on the man who moaned if I did so much as move slightly against him. While I was too shy to say what I wanted, I used my conduct to urge him on to have what he desired most. I did so by lying on my back and pulling him on top of me. This was the one time that I used my mother's advice as I splayed my legs out for my husband. He was still clothed, so I pulled his nightshirt up to his waist. As our secret places grazed each other, he protested, "But Lady Catherine said I should not unless . . . "

I interrupted him. "Are you married to Lady Catherine? Listen to your wife now and do as I say! I am ready for you now."

He needed no further urging to act as I desired, but rather than passively lying below him, after that initial thrust and retreat, I wrapped my legs around him, desiring to pull him deeper. I felt the odd contrast of feeling the material of his nightshirt bunched up against my belly, with the delicious nakedness of below, of having my nether regions finally fulfill their purpose, and the press of my legs around him. Though our joining that first time was brief, I enjoyed it far more than I ever thought I could, feeling how vulnerable he was in my arms and in me.

Afterward he held me (he still clothed and me still naked) and planted several kisses along my face and neck. After each kiss her murmured faintly, "Thank you."

I felt a deep lassitude come over me and only managed to murmur back perhaps once, "No, thank you," before sleep claimed me.

In the morning I awoke to his touch. Sometime during my slumber, I ended up lying on my abdomen, with my head facing towards him. He was lightly stroking my bare back, his fingers stopping just above my bottom. It was a respectful, careful touch, very light and well removed from where I most desired his touch to land.

When my eyes opened he stopped. "I did not mean to wake you," he smiled and added, "Mrs. Collins." He was tousled and relaxed and very unlike the most proper Mr. Collins I knew.

I returned his smile, turning onto my side to face him. We were well covered by a blue blanket, with only our faces and necks visible. For some minutes we simply gazed at each other, his hand now resting just above my hip. It was somehow more difficult to be bold in the daylight, so I averted my gaze before adding, "Pray continue."

He began tentatively at first to sweep his hand along my side. With each stroke his hand traveled further up and down until it finally grazed over the side of my breast and the curve of my bottom. I felt desire, a little inner ache and then the stronger urge to make water.

Coming more fully awake, I knew I needed to use the necessary, but felt the dilemma of having been divested of my nightgown and not knowing where it was now. Too, to perch on the bowl resting in its cutout on the wooden shelf without a stitch on and to do that in my husband's presence, well it was the sort of intimacy that in the light of day seemed almost impossible.

There was only one solution I could think of, "Mr. Collins could you close your eyes and try not to listen as I, well, you know." I blushed. It seemed odd to blush over such a thing, knowing all we had done and shared the previous night.

"Of course," he closed his eyes and I darted out of our bed, opened the door and plopped myself down across the porcelain bowl. I only wished there was a way to stop his ears from hearing me. Of course, I hardly should have worried considering all the sounds and smells I had been subjected to the previous evening. Afterwards, I noticed I was both wet and sticky.

I chanced a glance in his direction. His eyes were still closed. I got up, closed the door to that clever piece of furniture, and poured a bit of water into the basin for washing up. I cleaned myself with flannel, first my face and then below. But even the deliberate touch to do that, made me remember all the touches of the night before. Desire bloomed in my belly and a sweet ache made itself known.

When I returned to our bed and was well covered I told him, "You may open your eyes." I wished to seek more fulfillment, but it was more embarrassing to ask and order in the light of day. It did not help that he was still covered by his nightshirt. I regretted then that I had not used the time when I was up to find and put my nightgown on.

He placed a gentle kiss upon my cheek and asked, "Can I not do more to give you pleasure? I would hate to have to report to Lady Catherine about how I failed her, by not refraining."

I laughed then. I thought he was joking about telling Lady Catherine exactly what had transpired between us, but something in his face told me he was not and my laughter died away. I remembered that Lady Catherine had requested a full report. Surely he did not intend to give her a blow-by-blow account? The fact that she had been so frank did not mean that we had to do likewise, did it?

Even while I rejected such a notion, I recollected how much Mr. Collins always talked about Lady Catherine and how it was always praise. While it was one thing to receive her advice (however mortifying I had found it at the time, it was plain to me that the benefits I had reaped were well worth the temporary embarrassment), I did not want Mr. Collins telling her such details. She might as well have been observing us, even being in our bed.

As it so often did, a fancy struck me. I imagined Lady Catherine sitting in her chair near the foot of our bed, a journal open on her lap and making notes, perhaps a numbered list, as we engaged in the events of the previous evening. And then, instead of us falling into sleep, she insisted on giving us her critique.

"Now Mr. Collins, why did you wait for Mrs. Collins to kiss you? Be a man and make the first move! Now Mrs. Collins, you did an excellent job of telling Mr. Collins what to do, but I noticed you failed to correct him both when his touch was too firm and when it was too light. Mr. Collins you almost flubbed the entire night by both not having the digestive fortitude to restrain your bowels at least until you could reach another room, and failing to rejoin your wife.

"Mrs. Collins, I was most pleased that you sought your husband out and proceeded to take charge." She nodded approvingly to me. "I suspect now you understand how gratifying it is do have another do your bidding. However, you ought not have felt the pity to indulge his baser instincts before he gratified you. It sets a dangerous precedent for your marriage. He will now feel entitled to take you when he is ready and you may be left unfulfilled. And Mr. Collins, did I not tell you that you were not to have her until you gave her the ultimate delight?"

In response, Mr. Collins crawled out of our bed and toward her. "Yes Madam, I am sorry Madam," he said while kneeling before her in his billowing nightshirt, his body shaking in fear. As he crawled ever nearer to her, he did not even dare to look up. When he finally reached her, he offered up the excuse, "but Mrs. Collins asked me to."

"Did I ask you what she said?" Lady Catherine imperiously asked before supplying the answer herself. "Of course not. You have been very disobedient. Perhaps you should be punished."

Suddenly the image of Lady Catherine in my mind bore an ornately carved walking stick. As far as I knew she owned no such thing, but I had seen its like before. I wondered if she would thrash my husband with it. He looked up then at Lady Catherine and the stick she bore, now lifted out as if she would whack it down upon his rear. His look was a mixture of excitement and terror.

He looked over at me then and declared, "I deserve to be punished for having failed you . . . " I expected that vision of Mr. Collins to say, "Mrs. Collins" or "Charlotte" but instead he added, turning to stare at her, "Lady Catherine." He then entreated her, "Please punish me!" and hoisted his nightshirt up to present his bare bottom to her. I saw desire writ large upon his face.

Lady Catherine saw his desire, too, and being unwilling to fulfill it, declared, "You may not have Mrs. Collins again until she screams your name three times. Now get back to it."

"Yes, Lady Catherine!" He most eagerly regained the bed, pulled down the covers and with me wholly exposed her judging eyes, pushed my legs as far apart as they would go and proceeded to touch me there, while I tried my best to ignore our audience. But even as I closed my eyes, I could not close my ears to her comments about how he could improve his technique.

Even though it was all in my head, my body did not seem to know the difference. This little fantasy spurned me on to lean closer to him and say, "I think I would like to try it all again."

In the end we agreed that no failures needed to be reported as things had gone quite well with our repeat performance. Exhausted, we dosed again for a time, naked and snuggled up with each other in the center of the bed. When we were finally up for the day (fortunately Mrs. Bates had the good sense not to disturb us), Mr. Collins insisted, "We must go see Lady Catherine today; she expects it and it would not do to disappoint her after she has shown us such generosity and condescension."

I tried to demure and then offer a substitute idea. "Surely it would be sufficient to send her a note!"

But Mr. Collins was most insistent, "No, that will not do at all! We must respect her directions and follow them with perfect exactitude."

I considered trying to continue to oppose him in this, but although he had let me exert control in the marital bed, I well knew that it was most unseemly for the hen to try to rule the roost.

Additionally, he seemed most anxious at the thought of defying Lady Catherine's dictates, so anxious in fact that I visualized him suffering an apoplectic fit and dying on me. Although our successful marital interactions did not mean that I now loved him, I certainly did not wish him ill and felt more tenderness toward him than I could have anticipated just a day earlier.

My plans for my future security in life (just as Mrs. Bennet's must have been), rested upon my husband living at least long enough so that he might produce in me the Longbourn heir, or barring that outlive me. But as I had no wish to shuffle off the mortal coil prematurely, I was depending upon the second. I imagined the pity I would receive if only days after my wedding I was escorted back to Lucas Lodge in my blackened dress, as the widow of Mr. Collins.

So finally I told him, "I would not wish to displease Lady Catherine."

"So you will attend her?"

"Yes, I will, for your sake if not for hers."

He seemed to think about this for a moment, softly echoing "for my sake," before his lips turned up a bit.

"I want to leave momentarily, but before that, there is something I must do. Come with me please."

He held out his arm and I accepted it. I was most curious as to what he needed to do now, when moments earlier he was so eager to depart. He led me to his study and bid I sit down on the single chair opposite his desk as he took the seat at the desk. He prepared his pen for writing and then made a few practice strokes on a bit of paper before fetching from his shelves a large book. When he gently placed it on his desk, I could tell it was an old Bible. With a great deal of care, he opened up the front and turned the book toward me.

"Here lies the names of all of my family on my mother's side, a complete history for almost one hundred years. I need to add you in as my wife." He turned the book back towards him and below his name he wrote, "married Charlotte Elizabeth Lucas on January 16, 1812." He then asked me for the exact date of my birth and then wrote it below my name with a dash afterwards. I felt all the importance of having my name written in his book. We waited in what felt like reverent silence some minutes while the ink dried.

While we were walking to Rosings I asked, "Who gave you that Bible?"

Mr. Collins then proceeded to tell me about his grandmother. I let him talk on and on uninterrupted. I realized as he spoke that I had known almost nothing before about his personal history. Yes, he often spoke at length, but those topics usually consisted of praise or apologies. As he shared with me, I wondered if he had ever shared such things with someone else before. I could see the scared and hungry boy in my mind, feel the triumph he experienced when finally he arrived at school, only to have his hope of better things to come dashed as his teacher berated his poor reading and spelling in front of the rest of the class.

"I knew then that I was hopelessly behind the other students. Indeed I could not start university when I ought to have. When I graduated and took my orders, my grandmother's funds were all but exhausted. It is a blessing that Lady Catherine was looking for a rector at just the time I needed a post, just after taking my orders. I do not know why she picked me, but she shall have my undying gratitude because she did."


	5. Chapter 5

_Apologies on how long it has taken me to complete this chapter and also on how it is kind of a downer, at least until the end._

_I thought this would be my final chapter, but it seems that Mrs. Collins had other ideas, so stay tuned for at least one more chapter after this one (which I was working on parallel to this one, but is only half done)._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Lady Catherine's POV: My Lonely Existence **

Although one might think I lead a charmed life, as a veritable queen over my beloved Rosings, the estate and acknowledged most important personage over the neighborhood, Hunsford, and indeed among the most notable in Kent, still my life is lacking. I try to fill that lack with guests, visits, and the generous dispensing of advice, but still, it is never enough.

Once, I imagined presiding over (with my most handsome, romantic, understanding and beloved husband by my side) a household filled with children. First they would people the nursery, and then they would spill out to their own rooms in the family wing. I imagined tall, noble looking sons, as adept at riding horses as at dancing. They would hunt and fish and excel at all the manly pursuits.

I imagined lovely daughters with every shade of hair and eyes, who would play the piano forte and the harp, whose voices would form an ethereal choir. My daughters would be much sought after by scores of suitors when they debuted, and the finest among them might even marry nobility. Perhaps I would be grandmother to a future duke, or (when my fancy was running especially high I imagined) perhaps even a prince. But even the most plain among them would marry fine landed gentlemen.

I imagined being into my dotage before my husband died and left me in the care of our oldest son, who loved me dearly and catered to my every need with gladness. And then, some day when I was a wizened prune of an old woman, I would die by gently drifting off to sleep surrounded by my children and more than a score of grandchildren.

But none of that was to be. Just as my expectations for what the marital act could be were dashed so, too, were my hopes for a dozen children.

I lied when I told Mr. and Mrs. Collins that my Lewis had done far better the morning after our wedding night. That was only my wish of how he could have acted if he was less stubborn and more biddable. In truth he never gave me the satisfaction I longed for.

I knew what was possible between a man and a woman, or at least I thought I did. It was probably sinfully of me, but from about the age of fifteen I had begun to venture to explore my own person.

It started innocently enough. I read a romantic novel in which the hero kissed the heroine at the end. I was most curious about what it would feel like to kiss another. Under cover of darkness when I lay awake one night, I decided to see what I could do to mimic such a sensation. Cupping the side of my pointer finger around the underside of my thumb, I formed the approximation of lips, which I then pressed my own lips against. I was not all that satisfied with my efforts.

Months later after reading a novel in which the hero stripped off his beloved's glove and trailed kisses across the back of her hand to the edge of her sleeve, I imagined what it might be like to have a man kiss the back of my bare hand and then press more kisses along my arm. That was not too hard to mimic by placing kisses along my own hand and arm. As my nightgown sleeves were loose, it was easy to press kisses from the back of my hand in a line all the way up to my shoulder. I liked the sensation and did this several times.

It became a habit, when tucked into my bed, to lay kisses upon my arm and to intone, "Sleep well my love and dream of me," as I imagined a hero might say to his bride to be. On one occasion as I did so, my arm happened to brush against my breast in such a manner as to make my nipple harden. The sensation was new and in wonderment I drew my hand along that part of my anatomy. From that night forth, occasionally I handled my breasts.

Later, in noticing the wetness this caused my womanhood, my fingers were drawn there. With time, my personal explorations of my own person taught me that, using simply my fingers, I was able to give myself self-satisfaction that dwarfed my previous efforts. I understood then just what was possible. I quickly gained a good notion of fingering and played my own body like a virtuoso. Perhaps it was naive of me, but I imagined that even more superior results could be achieved one day if my husband kissed me and did likewise, too.

I might have continued on in such a manner until I met and married, if it had not been for being interrupted one night by my sister Anne. At the time she was seventeen and I was one and twenty. She had only recently made her debut.

In many ways Anne was still more girl than woman. While I felt jaded by being in my fourth season, and knew life could not be so perfect, she saw each potential partner as an opportunity to find her one true love. Too, she still believed in a bit of magic, thought she saw faeries and that animals might talk (she said that was why she always talked to them, in the hope that one might answer). I always found this slightly ridiculous and even more so now that she was old enough for suitors.

In her fancies, she was a princess waiting for her noble knight. After each ball she told me about the men she met and who caught her eye. She also told me she had prepared a test to determine who was worthy, although she would not reveal what such a test was. I half expected she was looking to see which man would perform a kind act to a stranger of no significance, or who might be able to guess her favorite number, or that she would decide after the fact what she had been looking to find.

Perhaps I should not have been surprised that after a night in which we both danced until dawn at Lady Stapleton's Ball, that she could not wait until morning to discuss all that had transpired. Acting as she had in our younger days, she dashed through my door, set down her candlestick, lifted the covers slightly and slid in to join me in my bed.

"Oh, Cat-Cat, there is so much I wish to talk to you about."

At that exact moment, my fingers had been most pleasantly engaged in ministering to my needs and were well wet with my pleasure, the skirt of my nightgown pulled up to almost my waist. I had most certainly not been expecting any interruption.

I felt myself flush with embarrassment and could only hope that it was not too obvious by candlelight. While trying to school my expression, simultaneously under the cover of my blanket I slowly removed my hand from my person. I was most aware of how wet I was and my fingers as well. Unfortunately for me, Anne had entered the side of the bed nearest to my right hand and was now inches from me. I tried to rub my right hand off and simultaneously with my left hand tried pull my nightgown down. I felt only partially successful with both tasks. There was only so far that I could pull my nightgown down without sitting up, and I really needed a more absorbent material than my bedding to dry my hand.

Her mouth half open, ready to impart whatever could not wait until morning, Anne glanced down at the movement of my left hand struggling to pull my night gown down. "Why are you thrashing about," and then back up at my face, "you seem rather flushed, are you falling ill?"

"Certainly not."

With a disbelieving look, she placed one hand upon my forehead. "You feel a bit hot. Perhaps we should turn the covers down." As she sat up to do so, I sat up likewise and and grabbed at them. Perhaps it was unlikely, but I thought if she saw how high my nightgown was that she would know just what I had been up to. I had no idea if anyone acted similar to me in the privacy of their own bed and felt mortified that she might find me out.

"No, I am well. I was just thinking about all the gentlemen we met tonight."

This was true, as I had touched myself I had just been considering the man who currently intrigued me, one Mr. Lewis de Bourgh. He was not the most handsome of men, but I still found his appearance pleasing. He was tall, but had a grace many tall men lacked. As I was tall for a lady, him being perhaps half a foot taller suited me well indeed. In those days all men of any consequence wore wigs, so I had no notion of what his hair might be like but imagined him with a flowing mane (after our marriage I learned he was quite bald but for a ruff of sandy hair perhaps two inches high up from his neck). He also had a commanding presence that made others defer to him.

There was something slightly dangerous about him. Before I was introduced to him, I had already heard the rumor that he had fought and won a duel with swords. I never learned if there was any truth to this rumor. Lewis was a man of few unnecessary words. However, he did have a long scar that started under his glove and disappeared under his shirt sleeve that gave credence to such gossip and had me speculating as to whether the rumor could be true.

Too, I heard that he was lately a widower. His young wife died the year before in childbirth and had left him with neither wife nor heir. This tragedy had all the young women wishing to console him. But unlike many of the other maidens, he had sought an introduction to me and a dance. Besides the traditional niceties, he had only said, "Lady Catherine, may I have your next free dance?" and waited for my response ("Yes you may, Mr. de Bourgh, my sixth is free") before he strode away.

When it was time for our set, we hardly spoke at all. His face was rather impassive but I attributed it to him doing his best to hide his sadness and grief at the death of his young wife and son and that when he returned from town he would have to face their graves in the church cemetery. In those days I was quick to make up stories in my head to explain other people's actions.

Anne was prattling about a suitor I had heard nothing of before. "He is handsome and kind and quite tall and danced marvelously. Oh, Cat-Cat, do you believe it could really be like the novels and we could fall in love at first sight?"

"Did you fall in love tonight?" I asked, curious; if it was possible for any woman, I imagined it could happen to my sister. "Did the faeries help you meet your one true love?" I had never had that kind of a reaction to a man and thought it far fetched. However, I secretly longed to have it happen to me.

"Well, no," she shook her head and then leaned it down on my shoulder, her braid tickling my neck, before confiding quietly, "the faeries live in the woods and do not like ballrooms. I like him better than any other man I have met so far. I imagine his hair beneath his wig must be quite dark, as his eyebrows are. He has dark eyes, too, and when he listened to me it was as if nothing else was as important as our conversation." She gave a little contented sigh.

"What were you talking about then? What the parliament has been up to?" I joked.

"No, of course not. I was telling him about Dinah the cow." Dinah was a calf that Anne had insisted be saved when somehow her mother was crushed by a lightning felled tree. I was well familiar with the story of how little eleven-year-old Anne cried when she heard that the little calf was going to make a delicious veal meal and had insisted that she would feed the calf herself, and so she had, feeding it by drenching a cloth in a bucket of milk which the calf learned to suckle before later learning to drink directly from the bucket. However, even when the calf was doing well enough that her care could have been left to another, Anne insisted on being the one to feed her. As the calf grew, she used to wait for Anne to come to her with the bucket and after she had drunk her fill would attempt to engage Anne in play, frolicking in front of Anne as if Anne were another calf.

Our older brother (now the Earl), finding these events worthy of a joke, had one evening at dinner declared, "Anne has become mother to a cow; as such I imagine she will no longer eat her kin." Then he gave a deep, "Moooooooo."

Anne had not been offended and offered, "I do not mind being the mother of a cow. Dinah is such a little darling and if she sees me as her mother it is nothing but an honor." Even now when Anne returned to our father's country estate, she would go to visit the dairy cows and bring a treat for Dinah. Each time it was as if no time had elapsed, for Dinah recognized her human mother and would trot up to her like a dog greeting his master, her large eyes fixed adoringly at Anne, her neck straining as she sought to get as close as the fencing would allow.

"He told me that I picked a very fine name for her and I could rename all his cows if I wished but I told him that I would not possibly be able to pick out good names for them without seeing them and perhaps not even then, for the right name requires a bit of magic. I told him about how I took a nap in a meadow by the woods and while I was dozing the faeries must have told me Dinah's name because I woke up knowing it.

"He got a most thoughtful look on his face just then and told me that when he was a lad, he got lost in the woods of his family's estate. He told me that he followed a butterfly in, trying to catch it for his collection and quickly became quite turned around. He became convinced that this butterfly sought to punish him for catching its kin. Later he followed the croaks of a frog, who took pity on a small lost boy and in such a manner found his way home again. He told me that he never caught another butterfly. I could tell from this that he knows something of the magic of nature. Then he told me I was free to visit his estate whenever I desired, but that it was rather far from London. He said it was called Pemberley. Is that not the most marvelous name?"

We talked on and on for a while, Anne sharing every detail about Mr. Darcy, until she finally remembered to ask me, "And you, Cat-Cat, has anyone caught your eye?"

I told her a bit about Mr. de Bourgh, but I could not muster up as much enthusiasm as Anne had for Mr. Darcy, but perhaps that was only because a woman newly out is always more enthusiastic about her prospects than one who has lingered unattached.

After a while she began to yawn. "Could you unbraid my hair, rub my scalp, and sing to me like you did when I was little?"

I cooperatively undid her hair and was just preparing to run my hand through the hair at her temple, when she asked, "What is that smell? Do you have some new perfume?"

I recollected that I was not wearing any. That could only mean that . . . "Yes, yes, I do," I quickly lied, adding, "but I don't think I like it very well."

"Oh, goodness gracious. I was not wanting to insult you if you really liked it, but there is something a little unwashed body about it, if you know what I mean."

I did indeed. In the end, I ran my clumsier left hand's my fingers through her hair and sang to her about a water sprite. Once she slumbered in my bed, I got up and cleaned my hands well with soap and water in the basin.

Although Anne did not come visit me when I was abed very often, perhaps once or twice a week (always, always talking about Mr. Darcy who had apparently passed her test), I felt less free to indulge myself. I am the sort of person that cannot stay awake very long after my head hits the pillow, or at least I was like that in those days.

After about three months, Anne visited me one evening very upset. "Mr. Darcy asked me to marry him and I agreed, but Papa would not hear of it, would not even give Mr. Darcy permission to court me. I asked Papa about this and he said I cannot court or marry while you are still single. He said that he regretted letting me out at all. It was Mama's idea, but apparently Mr. Darcy was not the first man to talk to him about being interested in me. I do not know or care about those other men, but I know I want to marry Mr. Darcy. It will be marvelous being married to him. We shall picnic and take walks in the woods. He cares so much for my happiness. Do you know that he told me that he would buy Dinah from Papa for me? You have been out these four years, Cat-Cat, so why are you taking so long?" She pouted in that annoying way that little sisters do.

I responded evenly, "No one has ever asked for my hand in marriage, save for old man Donahue. And I think he was mostly in jest. I am not as pretty or sought after as you and I am too tall for most."

"I am sure there is someone just right for you. What about Mr. de Bourgh? I know you fancy him and I imagine that you could make him happy again. He always asks you for a dance. I expect he would offer for you if you made your interest clear."

"I think he mostly does so to be polite. Like many, he probably simply wants to curry favor with Papa."

I did not know it then, but my sister took it upon herself to further this potential match and Mr. Darcy was her accomplice in this. Perhaps it is not so surprising. She was in love and fancied that love was all around her. I am sure she thought she was acting in my best interest, in both our best interests.

Not long after this, Mr. de Bourgh began to call on me. He never said much, but how could anyone say much but inanities while I was always suitably supervised by my mother, one of my aunts or some other relative? I admired in him that he did not feel the need to talk. Anne attributed his silence to his overwhelming feelings for me. How she could notice anything when she was in the same room with Mr. Darcy, I do not know. Those two had eyes only for the other.

Perhaps six weeks later, Mr. de Bourgh was sitting near me when he took up one of my hands and asked with no preparatory phrases, "Lady Anne, will you marry me?" It was hardly the romantic proposal I had hoped for, but he had paid me more attention than any other man and I knew my father thought him suitable enough, so I answered, "Yes, I will." A month later I was married, and two months later, so was my sister.

I had not lied to the Collinses about Mr. de Bourgh kissing me while we were engaged. We walked out one time under the supervision of my spinster aunt who was a romantic at heart. There was a little garden at the back of our London house and she turned to stare very fixedly at a grand tree that was at the corner of the garden.

Mr. de Bourgh rightly observed my aunt's action as at least tacit permission. He very deliberately marched me to the corner of the house where we would not be visible from any windows and told me in his deep voice that I found both dangerous and arousing, "I am looking forward to being married to you, Lady Catherine," then bent his knees so he was less tall, laid a hand on either side of my face, leaned in and kissed me. It did not last too long, but I remember thinking that this was nothing like the kiss I made with my lips against my bent fingers. It felt good and I felt it deep inside me, much deeper and lower than my mouth. I did not expect his tongue to sweep against the edges of my lips and in response tightened my lips slightly, keeping him out.

He pulled back then and told me, "Lady Catherine, it is just a kiss. Relax your mouth and let me have what is my due. We will be married soon and all of you will belong to me then."

This was perhaps the longest he had ever spoken to me all at once. I felt excitement and also trepidation. Just who was this man who I was marrying and what did he have planned for me when I would be his? I obeyed, of course, when a moment later his mouth was on me again. I closed my eyes and just let my body feel. It was even better than before. I felt I could not move away even if I had desired it (though I did not desire anything so much as for that kiss to continue), because his grip around my face was both light and firm. My hands had come up to lightly rest upon his chest and I felt a firmness under all the layers of his clothing.

I could not help myself, and perhaps it was wanton of me, but I was feeling bold and powerful that I had inspired such passion in him. I let my own tongue reach out first to caress his and then sought entry into his mouth. Again he pulled away. I opened my eyes and saw tense little lines between his brows. "Now Lady Catherine, you must know your place. A woman, even one who is the daughter of an earl, is the vessel, not the wine."

I did not really understand him then, but I kept my tongue in my own mouth after that. He kissed me for a long time, but it was still over too soon. That night, I lay awake for some time, thinking about his kisses, imagining all that would transpire on our wedding night. Soon, I gave into the temptation to pleasure myself and it did not take long for me to reach the highest heights.

Unfortunately, the real event was not half as good as the fantasy. We reached Rosings several hours after the wedding and shared a meal together. He had been silent and half sullen in the carriage and now at the table. I was not sure why he was acting this way, but was resolved that he must only be feeling the oddness of now having another wife.

That evening, I was already in my bed wearing my night gown when he entered my room in his dressing gown. He walked to my bed, drew back the covers and after he pulled the bed linens up, climbed on top of me. Mr. de Bourgh did begin with a most lovely kiss, but he resisted all attempts for me to more actively involve myself. When I placed my arms around him to draw him closer to me, he paused and removed them. When I started to sweep a hand down his chest (his dressing gown lay half open), curious to feel how his chest hair felt and the rest of him as well (I am not sure if I would have dared to touch his member), he trapped my hand with my own.

Without him ever saying so, I came to the conclusion that he expected me to be passive. I learned that being the vessel meant it was he who would decide when I was ready for his invasion; I was to simply submit and have no desires of my own. Indeed on that first occasion, when he decided it was time he firmly parted my legs and drove himself into me without any warning. When I cried out in pain, he muffled my cries with his hand and continued on until he was finished. I never considered resisting; it was his right as I was his wife.

If he had stayed afterwards and held me, offering the barest of apology or even a soothing touch, likely I would have felt better about the whole thing. But he did not. Once done, he climbed out of the bed, pulling his dressing gown more closed, leaving me with my gown pulled up, exposed and bereft. It was up to me to pull my gown down and my covers up.

Whereas I thought I would see Mr. de Bourgh during at least part of the day, I soon learned that it was his practice to disappear into his study, only to emerge to depart for the stables to ride or to take a carriage elsewhere. I might only see him at dinner (I was not expected to go down for breakfast, a tray was always sent to my chambers). When I was most likely to see him was when I was abed.

Mr. de Bourgh visited me fairly often at first and always left when he was done. When he cared to, he acted slowly and made me slick and ripe with desire and silenced my cries of pleasure with his hand. But when the whim struck him, I might wake to his invasion for which my body was fully unprepared and be pained some. When it was the former, sometimes I gave myself some pleasure afterwards while imagining that it was him doing it. When it was the later, I tried to fully ignore how my body felt and seek the succor of sleep.

I only had my courses once before I fell with child. I told Mr. de Bourgh of my suspicions one night in the brief interval of him entering through the connecting door and walking to my bed, quickly saying, "You need to know, I think I am with child."

He smiled for an instant but mere moments afterwards his face fell into its customary impassiveness and I saw a deep sadness in his eyes. He then climbed into my bed and for a few moments lay facing me, his hand lightly pressed to my still flat middle. While his hand rested there, he told me in a voice brimming with emotion, "Lady Catherine, I am so very pleased how quickly you have fulfilled your duties. You seem to have a strong constitution and I am sure you will be well." There was an added passion and urgency to his joining with me afterwards, and I felt more fulfilled that night. But after he knew he avoided me even more during the day and visited me at night only perhaps twice each week. When the birth grew closer, he stopped visiting me at all.

As it turned out my sister's lying in coincided closely with my own. Anne and I exchanged many letters comparing our symptoms and speculating on our future children.

But one letter I received from my sister just days before the birth of my Anne was different. It mostly consisted of a recitation of a dream she had. "In the dream the chittering faeries had told me you would birth a daughter and I would birth a son and both should be named for their mothers' family. They told me their destinies were linked. Then the dream shifted and we were both carrying our babies in our arms when the sky blackened and the rain drenched us." She wrote, "I was able to keep my son dry but your daughter was soaked and afterwards both our homes stayed under a dark cloud. I cannot but think that the faeries are trying to warn us of some future doom." At the time her dream seemed like so much nonsense, but I remembered it after I birthed a daughter and she birthed a son.

Shortly after my daughter was born, my husband came to see me. I felt he was scrutinizing me very carefully, cataloging how I was. Anne, too, received a similar treatment. "All seems well," he finally proclaimed and gave a relieved sigh.

In the days that followed, he stayed away. I was certain he was disappointed to have received a daughter. However, he never made any comment about it to me. When I had healed and he resumed visiting me, he told me on that first occasion, "I want to fill you belly again soon." He was diligent in his pursuit of such an outcome, visiting me nightly. While he was no more generous than before, I had more enjoyment in feeling his need and imagining that each act might lead to another child.

As for Anne, Mr. de Bourgh seemed to have little interest in her. This did not surprise me as I had long ago concluded that his lack of conversation with me was not that he was simply a laconic man but that he considered women so far beneath him that there was no point in speaking to us. I had a purpose of course, but that purpose was to be a repository for his seed and to give him sons, and secondarily to manage the household with the funds he allotted for it.

Of course I would not have married Mr. de Bourgh if I had understood him better, but such was the lot that was now mine. He was a good enough sort I suppose as I never lacked for anything. He was not cruel and he let me run the household as I wished, though I had no funds for decorating. He told me once, "Lady Catherine, I spent far too much to make my first wife happy. You should be happy enough with furnishings that are not yet five years old."

My understanding of my husband's character was partially overthrown when I happened to ask the housekeeper, Mrs. Mitchell, about the former Mrs. de Bourgh. I did not expect to receive much intelligence as Mrs. Mitchell was not prone to long conversations but rather all about being efficient. Thus she surprised me by telling me, "Oh, Eliza de Bourgh was a lovely lady, delicate and refined. She sang and played the harp and entertained the master most evenings. He was smitten, smiled almost constantly and would do anything for her. You must know that Rosings is a rather new building, do you not?"

I had never thought about it, though it certainly was a newer modern building. I nodded to encourage her to continue.

"Mr. de Bourgh was most determined to make Mrs. de Bourgh happy. The former Rosings was crumbling and damp. He had a whole new house built just to please her and spared no expense. Why he even spent eight hundred pounds on this here chimney piece alone. He attended to her every whim when she began expanding, even more so than he had done before. He was mighty torn up when the missus died, and the little master, too, though he lingered for three days, born too young. The master kept commanding him to live but that wee little baby expired in his arms. He has never been the same. It is not so surprising then, that he chose a marriage of convenience next."

I felt my eyes swell with tears, though I was most determined that Mrs. Mitchell should never know how her words affected me. Likely she was just calling it as she saw it, not meaning to hurt me. She must have seen something of the glimmer of my overly wet eyes then as she told me, "The staff all like you. You are not nearly so frivolous or capricious as she. Although no one can replace her in his eyes, the master seems more content being married to you than when he was alone in the house."

I should have known it, but until Mrs. Mitchell said it I did not truly know that I was in a marriage of convenience. Always, always I had imagined that there was more to each look he gave me during our courtship than apparently there was. I understood then that I was as silly as my sister, seeing things in my girlish fancy that were not truly there.

I had a hard time reconciling the picture this formed of my husband. I could not imagine him ever swept away from reason by his love; or rather, I knew he would never act likewise for me. I wondered, had his first wife been an active participant in the marital bed? Was that why avoided me and was so methodical in the marital act, so he would have no reminders of this?

Although I did not find much joy in my marriage, I took joy in my daughter and spent countless hours with her. I often held her after the wet nurse fed her and let her sleep in my arms. Whatever deficits our marriage might have, I could not wish us unmarried as then I would not have had my Anne, named for my most beloved sister.

Given the sequence of events, I did not see my sister for almost two years after her wedding. I was pleased when we were invited to Pemberley and that Mr. de Bourgh was willing to go. When we arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy greeted us together, her arm curled around his; they stood so close that the bottom of her skirt curved around his shoe. From that very moment, it was obvious to me that they were very attached to each other and deeply in love, and during the course of our visit this was confirmed many times over. They were always looking at each other and finding excuses to touch.

Anne and Fitzwilliam shared the same nursery during our visit and my sister and I spent many hours with them. Both of our children were toddling around now and I was delighted to see the cousins sitting side by side and playing. My daughter was especially attached to a rag doll, while Fitz was most delighted with a large wooden rocking horse. Although he could not sit on it unaided, he liked to walk around the horse and touch its mane and tail made from real horse hair, and run his hands along its bridle.

Her husband was a regular visitor also, but Mr. de Bourgh only visited but once in Mr. Darcy's company. My husband spent most of that visit admiring the Darcys' son.

As women and especially sisters do, we talked of many things most openly, but I was guarded when it came to talking about my marriage, while Anne most freely shared her happiness. She told me, "I am quite certain that I loved George before we married, but again and again I have been surprised by how much that feeling has grown. In seeing how he is with Fitz, well it is almost magical how much he loves his son and I in observing it have grown to love him even more. She patted her still flat belly and told me, "My courses are late again, I have hopes of another baby."

Once in talking about their futures, I told her, "You must have noticed Mr. de Bourgh has very little interest in my Anne. He did not care even enough to give her a name, which is why I was able to name her for you. I cannot help but worry that when she is grown that my husband might be glad enough to give my daughter to almost any man who asks, with no care as to who would make her happy."

Anne's response was, "I will talk to George about it. He and Mr. de Bourgh are friendly. And furthermore, perhaps it may be that Fitz and Anne will some day marry. It may be that this is how their destinies are bound up together."

Later during our visit I chanced to overhear my husband speaking with Mr. Darcy. Their voices were raised and that is what drew me to them. Mr. Darcy was saying, "I would not have done so much to forward the match if I knew how little you cared for Lady Catherine."

Mr. de Bourgh replied, "You got what you wanted, the prettier of the Fitzwilliam sisters. You were chomping at the bit wanting to marry Lady Anne and my marriage to her sister cleared the way for you. Everyone wanted Lady Anne, me included, but you were the only one clever enough to make it happen. No matter what justifications you may make now, you would have done anything to accomplish this."

Their voices dropped into more indistinct tones, but then I was able to hear Mr. Darcy say, "I want my wife to be happy and she cares about her sister's happiness."

My husband responded, "I cannot give her what I gave Eliza. When she died it was almost the death of me; I will not risk such heart-ache again. Lady Catherine made her own choice, too. It is not as if there were suitors knocking down her door, even with her dowry."

There was more mumbling and then more distinctively, Mr. Darcy asked, "Is everything at least solvent now? Will you be able to provide a substantial dowry for your daughter so that at least she may have the marriage she deserves?"

"Yes, my wife's dowry and your contribution paid off almost all the debts and we had a profitable harvest. Every penny you contributed will go back into her dowry and will be matched by me as agreed. Indeed should for some reason my wife not bear me a son, our Anne will be a very rich heiress indeed."

I could not bear to hear anything more and took myself away. I cried in my chamber for more than an hour. I mourned what had happened and what could have been. I had been sold to my husband so my sister might have Mr. Darcy; no one would ever love me as she was loved. That night when my husband came to me, I was completely passive, as spineless and still as a dead a jellyfish I once saw upon the shore. If he noticed, he did not seem to care.

I bore my husband three more children, two boys and another girl. When I was perhaps half-way through another pregnancy, my sister and her family came to visit us at Rosings. A day after she left, illness struck. We were all of us afflicted, one by one. The younger children seemed to sicken much worse than Anne. Mr. de Bourgh was with Charlie and then Matthew when they passed. Each time he begged them not to leave him, begged them to take another breath when they finally stilled. He did not venture into the nursery after that day. Two days later, the baby, Marina, who was only seven months old, died in my arms while both of us burned with fever.

For a time I knew nothing between the illness and my grief. However, when I was starting to be better, the contractions hit me. It was then that I realized I had not felt the baby move in days. When the midwife was fetched, she concurred with my assessment that likely the baby had died. In any event, the baby would be born too early and he was. I saw him but a moment before the midwife took him away. His face was swollen and distorted from the same illness that had claimed my three other children.

My husband did not come to see me afterwards. A few hours after the birth I hoisted myself up while the girl tending me protested, and made my way over to our connecting door. I found my husband very ill in his own bed, sweat pooling around him as his fever raged. He was being tended by his valet who had been ill earlier but had recovered.

Mr. de Bourgh was glassy-eyed. He reached out to me and grabbed my hand. He called me "Eliza." He told me, "The children are all gone." Then he started to weep.

I told him, "Anne is recovering. She needs her father." I do not think he heard me.

He told me, "Thank you for coming for me, Eliza." He looked out past the foot of his bed and strained forward a little and then collapsed back. He did not talk anymore. I climbed into the bed beside him and wiped his brow with a water dampened cloth. He lingered for two more days and then on the morning of the third day when I awoke, he was gone.

When I was well enough to be up and about, I opened the black edged letter in his study addressed to Mr. de Bourgh that was from Mr. Darcy. In it, he told of the death of their nine month old son, Philip, the only child to be born alive since Fitzwilliam and that my sister lingered between life and death. I dug through the mail and found another letter from him, most fortunately not edged in black. In it, Mr. Darcy told of how it now seemed that my sister would live but perhaps be permanently weakened. This was the state, too, in which my only living child seemed to dwell, unlikely to die now, but uncertain to be capable of surviving even a simple cold. It seemed to me that a dark cloud indeed lingered over both our homes.

I think I loved Mr. de Bourgh, or at least the Mr. de Bourgh I thought he could have been. When I told Anne stories about her father, I always called him Lewis. I always made him better than he was in life.

I spent the first year of my widowhood learning all I could about managing Rosings. When my steward balked about sharing such matters with a woman, I terminated him and hired another who had no hesitation in doing so. Though my brother the earl tried to interfere in how I ran things, I would not be shaken. I knew my rights under the will. Rosings was fully mine until Anne reached her majority and I was determined to make it as profitable as it could be.

Because I had only the one child, and she was often abed, I began to become more involved in my tenants' lives. I soon found that many could benefit from my direction, and those who did not like how I did things were welcome to work for another.

In many ways I experienced more freedom and responsibility than I ever had before. Largely I found purpose in making other people's lives better. The only thing really missing was physical fulfillment.

I contemplated a time or two that if I had been born a man, that I could have taken a mistress. I considered whether I might wish for a similar service from a man, but unlike a man I knew I would bear the full shame of any consequences of such action and though I ached for more children, I was not willing to have them that way and have us all bathed in shame. Too, undoubtedly even if that never occurred such actions would be wrong before God.

I also knew that I could remarry and perhaps find a husband who, if he did not exactly love me, might wish to give me happiness in all things in exchange for what Rosings could offer. But I did not want to be under someone else's thumb, to have the freedom I had gained be stripped away, to be subject to someone else's whims and perhaps to see him steal the bounty of Rosings which was to be Anne's some day.

A time or two when a single man in my employ tempted me, I was quick to find him a good marriage prospect. I knew I would never act improperly to an attached man.

Initially, I had no attraction to Mr. Collins. Really, I should have gifted the living to a more capable man. My tenants deserved better. However, during his interview in asking him all about his relations, I learned that he was the heir presumptive of a small estate and the name of his grandmother. I had known her slightly and had even heard how her daughter had married a worthless man. It seemed to me that I would be doing a most noble thing to help him gain a suitable occupation and train him up to also be a landowner, and so I granted him the living.

As time went on, he seemed to only improve a little. Always, always he was praising me lavishly and taking all my advice to heart without the slightest hesitancy. Once, when we were in a meeting about the needs of the parish, with the door closed, I found myself caught up in a fancy. You would think my desires for carnal pleasures would have decreased when I no longer had my courses, but the opposite was true. Now that no consequences could be had, I found myself more desirous for pleasure than ever.

I imagined instructing him, "Mr. Collins, get down on your knees. I am in need of your services."

He would drop down without hesitation and ask me, "Just what does the most beneficent and kind patroness Lady Catherine desire?"

I would beckon him forward, hoist up the front of my full skirt and gesture for him to get beneath it. As he made his way forward, all eagerness like a dog offered a treat, I would instruct him, "Now be quiet and give me pleasure." I imagined his actions in that cloying darkness, fully concealed by my skirts. He would locate my legs and then move his hands up to then touch and kiss that part of me that ached to gain the fulfillment I never had from Lewis. I imagined that while doing so, a maid might come into the room and I would calmly instruct her, outwardly unaffected while Mr. Collins did his best to pleasure me.

I knew such thoughts to be highly improper. While I was most certain that I could bend him to my will, it would be wrong to do so. After all, he was a man of God. Thus while he blathered on in our actual meeting, I resolved that I must find a way to keep myself from temptation.

I invited Mr. Collins to dinner that night for the specific purpose of later advising him to find a wife. I do not doubt that even that evening he was writing the letter to his cousin so that he could seek one out.

When he left a few weeks later, I felt relief wash over me. When Mr. Collins returned and told me he had asked for the hand of a Miss Charlotte Lucas, daughter of a knight, and been accepted, I knew my deliverance was nearly at hand. Thus, after receiving a most detailed description of how she fulfilled the qualities I charged him with seeking, I told him in all earnestness, "I so heartily approve of such a marriage that I wish it to take place as soon as possible."

While they did not marry soon enough for me, I was always most proper in his presence, reminding myself that he was soon to be a married man. Mrs. Collins was certainly a genteel woman and though it was clear to me that they had no real affection for each other, I felt Mr. Collins would soon be in love but Mrs. Collins would require a certain something more. In instructing them both in their marital duties, I only sought their happiness.

When they returned to call on me the following day, I could tell my advice had born fruit. Mr. Collins announced, "I have fulfilled your directions to the letter." He exchanged a glance with Mrs. Collins and she nodded her confirmation.

While I was tempted to ask for more details, I had pity on them and only responded, "I am glad."

That evening as I lay abed I thought about basket making, not imagining being with Mr. Collins, but how different it might have been if Lewis had approached me the way I expected Mr. Collins had been with his bride. Oh how glorious that would have been . . . .


	6. Chapter 6

_I hope you all are still interested in this story. Apparently I keep being incorrect on how many chapters this will have. Mrs. Collins informed me that this chapter was getting too long and that her friend Elizabeth should round out this story with her own POV in Chapter 7. I really hope that will be all as I was trying to edit my other story and this plot bunny had delayed that.  
_

**Chapter 6: ****Mrs. Collins's POV**

When Elizabeth visited me in March, I could see the pity in her eyes. Yes, Mr. Collins was likely as loquacious as she had ever known him to be, which meant he was much more verbose when we were alone. I had long ago accepted that this was simply how William would always be with company; it was his Mr. Collins personality.

In my mind I separated Mr. Collins from my husband William. Mr. Collins was almost always engaged in talking, most often either flattering or apologizing. Through the smoke this generated, his true self was obscured. As Mr. Collins he had a confidence, almost boastfulness, in being most proper in knowing his place and relative consequence. He was most flattering to those of rank but in his role in serving our Lord, he felt himself cloaked in that authority. He was his most Mr. Collins-self when before his patroness.

William was shy, uncertain, eager to both love and be loved, to please and be pleased, but was scared, terrified in fact, that he was not worthy of anyone's affection. He was gentle and had a sweet innocence about him. In looking back, I was convinced that I had met William first in the carriage to Hunsford, when he deigned to briefly hold my hand. However, I had not recognized the difference until I more formally met him in the marital bed.

My most important job in the early days of our marriage was to reassure William of my devotion, that he was now the center of my life (save for God). Although I was just beginning to understand who William was, I saw the possibility for love as I never had before. Who could not want to care for one who was so tender and kind, who put me first (though, I knew that Lady Catherine was first with Mr. Collins).

My relationship with William was very precious to me. I knew the trust that allowed him to reveal himself, bit by bit, was tenuous. The sense I had was that William had hid himself from most everyone and this was related to his father.

William smiled when he talked about his grandmother. He shared many detailed memories about her. William said almost nothing about living with his father. Unlike his grandmother's Bible, it seemed he had no mementos from his time with him.

In answer to my questions about why he was unprepared when he began school, William told me, "My Grandmama did her best to teach me reading, writing and figuring. We worked at it daily. It may not have been to the standard of what a young gentleman should receive, but she taught me all she knew."

"And your father?"

He hesitated and then asked, "Charlotte, have you been tending to our new hens in accordance with Lady Catherine's instructions? It is most important that we follow her instructions to the letter. Her kind condescension can only benefit us if we do as she says."

Although the man before me looked like my William, it was most evident he had been subsumed under the verbose Mr. Collins. I spent perhaps half an hour reassuring him that I had followed Lady Catherine's orders most exactly.

That evening when we were nestled in our bed he told me (as if several hours had not passed), "I do not like to talk about my father."

I told him, "William, I am sorry I asked, but if you ever want to talk about him, I will be here."

"Thank you," he told me. There was a frantic quality to his affections that night, as if he was compelled to confirm that I was his.

I could not, would not, reveal anything of my husband's more private self to Eliza. I knew it was a sore spot to William that she had rejected his suit. Letting anyone see how he was vulnerable would be a betrayal.

Additionally, as she was yet a maiden, I dared not discuss with Eliza my enjoyment of the marital bed. Thus I felt she had a very incomplete picture of what my marital life was like, but had no way of amending her impression.

Lady Catherine was indeed correct that in not neglecting to practice our marital duties that my husband and I could reach new heights of delight. However, the downside of our frequent couplings was that we were uncertain as to how we could best continue with guests as neither of us wished to refrain. Gone were our escapades in different rooms in which we kissed and caressed the other. Gone were the innuendos we bandied about and the suggestive posturing I adopted for our mutual pleasure: leaning over to pick up something that I intentionally dropped so that he would note my curved bottom and run his hand along it; leaning forward sans tucker so he would see my womanly cleavage and be tempted to squeeze my breasts or call for a nap during which even more delight would be sought. Instead during the visit, our affection was limited to the marital bed. Although we tried our best to be quiet, it was a challenge to stifle our sounds of enjoyment.

I was self-conscious especially that first night knowing that only a thin wall separated us from my father, who was in the closer guest room. I did a better job at being quiet than William, who was still audible even though I did my best to muffle him by pressing my lips to his.

At breakfast the following morning, my father gave Mr. Collins a knowing look. He clapped him on the back and said, "I have a feeling it will not be long until I have my first grandchild." Fortunately Maria and Elizabeth seemed oblivious as to why he was making such a comment.

It was easy to determine when the Colonel and Mr. Darcy arrived that both favored my friend Eliza. Mr. Darcy, especially, looked at her with the self-same longing look that William directed at me most every night, but it was masked by a scowl. Elizabeth was convinced he did not favor her and I quickly lost interest in disabusing her of that notion. She was like a mule who was determined to remain in its stall and refused to budge even though a green pasture was awaiting it, rather than the toil of hauling a cart. The Colonel was most definitely the more charming of the two, but I had a feeling that Mr. Darcy would be the more passionate.

After they left, Eliza seemed to have less enjoyment in her visit. Although she was always most polite and deferential to Lady Catherine, when Mr. Collins spoke about the prodigious care she extended to us, Eliza did not bother to mask her look of derision.

Months later in the summer I began to receive a series of letters from my mother in which events relating to the Bennet daughters were much featured. First I read about how Miss Lydia had received an invitation to Brighton and Mrs. Bennet had wasted no time in telling my mother. She reported:

_I cannot help but think Mrs. Bennet is jealous that you stole Mr. Collins from Miss Elizabeth. She still has hopes of her daughters making brilliant matches despite the way that Mr. Bingley cried off. Mrs. Bennet declared that she was not at all surprised that Mrs. Forster invited her youngest for the summer as Miss Lydia is so good natured and lively. She said she thought it likely that Miss Lydia would return home engaged to marry a captain or a colonel. After Miss Lydia departed, Maria and Miss Catherine spent much time consoling the other._

In the next letter I received, Mother wrote:

_My dear Charlotte, I regret to inform you that the reputation of all of the Miss Bennets is irretrievably sunk. Miss Lydia left the care of the Forsters in Brighton to elope with Lieutenant Wickham, or so we were first told, but now there has been no word of them. _

_It is my understanding that Miss Elizabeth has returned early from her trip to the northern parts as her relatives were too scandalized to keep any association with this branch of the family. It is a pity for her sake that she did not marry Mr. Collins. You can be sure, as we discussed when you were to be wed, that she would be regretting her choice sooner or later. Well you can be sure she regrets it now; to still be bearing the name Bennet is a millstone around her neck. I would not be surprised if all the Bennet daughters remained spinsters._

_Everyone believes Miss Lydia's virtue lost. It has since come out that Mr. Wickham has left many debts. I have no doubt that once he had his fill, he sold her to a nanny house. __I am no longer permitting Maria to see Miss Catherine and am avoiding Mrs. Bennet at all costs, not that she has been seen out anyway. Given how Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine both behaved around the militia__ it seems probable that Miss Catherine may follow in her sister's footsteps._

I wished to write a sympathetic letter to Elizabeth, but upon hearing my mother's letter, Mr. Collins immediately requested the letter from me so that he could visit Lady Catherine to advise her of all that had taken place in regards to his cousins. I resolved that I should wait to hear what transpired before putting pen to paper.

When he returned, he declared, "Lady Catherine most strenuously advised that we should have nothing to do with the Bennets while their daughter is missing." He recited a great many other instructions, that were more or less in line with that one.

I still considered writing to her but finally decided against it. Even had I wished to defy Mr. Collins, what could I write that would ease any of her pain? We had often discussed her younger sisters' lack of decorum and the embarrassment they, her mother, and even Miss Mary caused to her. I did not think she would like knowing that reports of what had befallen her sister was now the fodder for gossip both near and far. I thus resolved to write nothing. However, each time I received a letter, I hoped to hear from either her or Mother that things were not as dire as my mother feared.

A few weeks later, Mother wrote to tell me:

_You will never guess what has occurred! Miss Lydia returned to Longbourn with her husband Mr. Wickham and all his debts were paid. It must have cost Mr. Bennet and her uncles a pretty penny; I do not doubt that Mrs. Bennet made them all miserable until they agreed to pool funds for such a purpose. Undoubtedly it may be money well spent if it will help the others marry some day, though I doubt that at least for now that even those in trade would have them. _

_I was shocked myself that the Wickhams were even received at Longbourn, as everyone knows that they were only lately married, though Mrs. Wickham was absent for more than a month. Such sinful behavior should not be rewarded. However, it seems their visit will be short lived as the now Ensign Wickham is to now serve in the regulars at a posting far away where none will know of Mrs. Wickham's disgrace._

_Your father and I have resolved that once they have departed, we will allow Maria to greet Miss Catherine when they meet by chance, but must see how the rest of Meryton treats them before I permit her to visit at Longbourn once again._

Once again, Mr. Collins was most eager to share this latest news with Lady Collins. It was irritating to be sure, both for him to do this and to receive her advice about it, but it was too late to claim privacy in my correspondence.

I was well pleased when I learned next from my mother that the prospects of the Miss Bennets had improved:

_Fate has smiled on my dear friend Mrs. Bennet and her daughters. She is the most fortunate of women, as are her daughters. Both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy have returned to Netherfield. I had early intelligence of the matter from Mrs. Bennet, and in fact when I was visiting her, the gentlemen came to call. Mrs. Bennet is certain that Mr. Bingley came hither with the sole plan and purpose of courting Miss Bennet. From what I saw in the looks he gave her, this may well be true. _

_But interestingly enough, I do not think he is the only gentleman who has matrimonial intentions in mind. While I wish Maria could capture Mr. Darcy given his fortune (they were after all in company at Rosings), she says she is a bit scared of him. I might have missed his interest in Miss Elizabeth had you not mentioned that while they were both in Kent that you thought he admired her. Miss Elizabeth would not even meet his eyes, but the looks he gave her showed his interest._

Lady Catherine did not like the hint that her nephew might wish to marry my friend, but denounced it as a blatant falsehood. She took the action of making Mr. Collins bring me to her, so she could instruct in person, "Mrs. Collins, you must immediately write your mother and explain that Mr. Darcy was engaged to her daughter Anne."

I responded, "I will be glad to do as you say." Then I dared to ask as humbly as I could, "I did not know of their engagement, but I wish for their every happiness. When is this blessed event to take place?"

She pursed her lips and stated, "A date has not be set, but it was arranged between his mother and me since their infancy."

I asked no further questions as I did not wish to poke a lioness. However, it seemed to me that any engagement was purely a fancy of hers and was unlikely to have any affect on whether Mr. Darcy might ask for my friend's hand or not.

Finally I received the following missive:

_The Bennets are most blessed family around! Mr. Bingley will take Miss Bennet to wife. He proposed while Mr. Darcy was in London. __Mrs. Bennet cannot stop crowing about Mr. Bingley's five thousand a year and how this match will throw her daughters in the path of other rich men. She is already talking about Miss Catherine's likely prospects and how she and the soon-to-be Mrs. Bingley ought to have a season together in London. _

_Mr. Bingley does not seem to be unsettled by Mrs. Bennet's bragging. He has been telling everyone how pleased he is to be marrying Miss Bennet. Mr. Bingley let slip to Mr. Lucas that Mr. Darcy's visit to him will resume soon. Given his friend's partiality to Miss Elizabeth, I __portend that a proposal is all but certain when he returns._

_I would mention to Mrs. Bennet about Mr. Darcy's preference for Miss Elizabeth if I did not think it would make her even more unbearable. Mrs. Bennet had the gall to tell me that Miss Catherine was likely to be married before Maria._

Upon hearing this letter, Mr. Collins scurried to our patroness to make a full report and I accompanied him. Lady Catherine was furious that Miss Elizabeth was trying to trap her nephew. I was glad her insults were not directed at me.

After we walked home, Mr. Collins immediately sat down, informing me, "It is clearly my duty to inform my cousin Mr. Bennet that the match is not properly sanctioned." He added many remarks about the impropriety of a minor landholder's daughter daring to defy the will of an earl's daughter.

I offered bland soothing responses (never of course challenging the absolute authority for Lady Catherine to direct her nephew's actions).

When Mr. Collins finally settled down to write his missive, he blessedly fell silent. However, from the many lines that crossed the page, he was being his typical verbose self. I had learned well enough by this time to never read the letters he is writing as they are most embarrassing in often relating that which I intended he keep private. To spare myself the mortification, I pretend ignorance and decline when he offers to read them to me. And so it was with this missive, though it was not difficult to guess that he was instructing or at least strongly suggesting that the match never take place and relating some of Lady Catherine's harsh words. When finished, he took the letter off to post it immediately.

That evening Mr. Collins (or was it William?) wandered outside the parsonage and shredded several leaves on nearby trees. I wondered why he was still upset.

Later, when our maid servant had left for the day, I hoped that William would confide in me. I plopped myself down in his lap to get his attention. "What is bothering you, William?" I asked, sweeping his hair back from his brow.

William told me, "I want to tell you but I do not want you to think I am a deviant."

His brow was wrinkled, tense. I wanted to make it smooth again, to take the fear from his eyes.

"I very much doubt you are a deviant." I placed a kiss against his forehead and twisted slightly in his lap. "You can tell me." I was not sure he would, though.

He hesitated, considering. Finally he offered in a quiet voice, while not meeting my eyes, "Perhaps it is wrong, but could you be forceful in your words like Lady Catherine and punish me?"

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, getting up and pacing a bit. I could not but remember how I had imagined him desiring for Lady Catherine to beat him with a walking stick. Had he found her earlier anger arousing?

He reddened and hung his head, but finally told me. "I cannot help but feel that I have failed her. Perhaps I am a naughty boy and you are the governess who is correcting me with a switch."

I stopped my pacing and then took a few minutes to consider this. I knew William never had a governess; his grandmother had taught him and then later he had gone to school. I wondered why the idea of a governess punishing him had caught his fancy and how much this had to do with Lady Catherine.

While I was thinking, he said, "Perhaps you should forget I asked; such a thought must be most unnatural. We can behave as we usually do."

He sidled up close to me, planting a kiss upon my neck before he ran a light finger down my chest, easily locating one of my nipples beneath the fabric. My breasts were more tender than usual of late, but the midwife had told me that this was not unusual when a woman caught.

But I did not want to forget William's request. Although I was often very demanding of William, seldom did he venture to tell me what he would like as a prelude to our intercourse.

I turned to him and exclaimed in a harsh voice, "William! You have been a most naughty boy! Do you not know you should never touch your governess's person and certainly not so familiarly? Go outside and fetch me a long stick, for I need a switch."

"Yes Governess. Right away Governess." He flashed me a delighted smile as he ran past me to go outside. He returned moments later with a long and narrow stick, trimmed of all leaves and smaller twigs. I could not help but notice it that he must have prepared it in advance but it was still flexible rather than brittle.

I grabbed it and experimentally flicked it against the wall. I had seldom been switched myself, but my younger brother often got a tanning. I was not sure how hard William wanted his punishment to be, or even why he desired this, but I wanted to please him.

I hesitated, wondering, should I ask William to pull down his breeches?

While I was considering, he turned away from me and lowered his breeches to his ankles. He then grasped his ankles with his hands so as to present his fuzzy bottom to me. He whispered, "I want a sting but not big bruises or to bleed."

Then he said louder, in the higher pitched voice of a youth, "I am sorry I disobeyed you, Governess. You are just so lovely, Governess, that I could not help myself."

Even before I landed a single blow on his buttocks, his silent flute was jutting out. Thwack, I landed the first blow. He gasped a little and I feared it had been too hard.

"Thank you governess, for correcting your naughty boy."

I noticed he was more aroused. There was a red mark across his posterior, but it seemed likely the damage was temporary. I landed two more blows, slightly lighter than the first. Each time he thanked me and his length and girth grew.

I told him, "I fear my naughty boy is getting rather old for a governess." I dared to reach out with one finger to trace the outline of his appendage. He inhaled sharply, his eyes dark with lust.

"I only want to please you, Governess."

I was not sure what he wanted next, so I asked, "How would you like to please me, naughty boy?"

In mock shyness and embarrassment he told me, "I want to please you the way your husband did before he was lost at sea and you were forced into service, but as I am yet a lad, I know not how to do it. Please teach me!"

I knew then that he wanted me to instruct and demand and so I did. I must admit that I became rather caught up in our play acting. His excitement made what followed most pleasing to us both.

Two days later, Mr. Collins went to visit Lady Catherine to again offer his condolences on Miss de Bourgh's aborted engagement to Mr. Darcy.

I was surprised, then, to see him trotting home mere minutes later. He burst in and exclaimed, "Lady Catherine is gone!"

I had a momentary thought that Lady Catherine had unexpectedly perished before he added, "Miss de Bourgh was kind enough to see me and relate the message that her mother left for Longbourn to, as she said, 'put that grasping Miss Bennet in her place and restore to me my intended.'"

I considered if there was anything I should do. Elizabeth was my friend and though we were less close than we once had been, I had enjoyed her visit and cared about her. However, it did not seem there was anything I could do. I did not know when Lady Catherine had left. It could have even two days earlier. Any letter, even an express would likely arrive after her and, thus, be a complete misuse of funds. I consoled myself that Lady Catherine's ire would surely lessen from the hours on the road, and if it did not, I had no doubt that Eliza would not be intimidated from words alone.

Two days later, Lady Catherine returned. I had early news of this as Mr. Collins had been relentless in watching the lane for her carriage. He burst into my parlor that faced the back of our property (I had claimed it as my own as I enjoyed seeing my husband's posterior as he bent over the rows of plants; I had even once ventured out, when Bates was well occupied in Hunsford on a protracted errand, to demand he immediately come inside and see to my needs; I had been so eager that the poor man was still washing dirt from his hands while I divested him of his boots and opened his fall). He exclaimed, "Lady Catherine has returned; we must go wait on her at once!"

I managed to dissuade him from leaving just then, "We must not be too hasty, Lady Catherine will wish to refresh herself after such a long trip. A half hour delay would be more appropriate."

He agreed, "I defer to your excellent advice, Charlotte. It would not do to appear with unseemly haste." But I could tell how hard it was for him to wait as he paced and kept glancing over at our only clock (which was a cast off of Lady Catherine's as most of our finer things were) as he kept chattering about showing proper deference to our betters. To perhaps the very appointed second he continued this one-sided discourse (I regretted insisting upon the delay) before blessedly pausing and then asking, "Are you ready to depart?"

I indicated my readiness. As we walked, he talked on and on about how we might best console our most kind benefactress. It was enough to make me want to find a way to permanently deafen myself. I contemplated whether I would be able to block out all his words if I poured melted wax in my ears, but imagined it would be much too painful, and what if it did not work?

He fell silent (in the temporary reverent manner he had when humbling begging admittance in which he said only the servile words needed). The maid who showed us to Lady Catherine avoided our eyes and trembled as she escorted us. Rather than announcing us, she left as soon as she opened to door to the salon. However this was not enough to prepare me for what we would see when we walked inside. There were upended chairs and shards of what appeared to be the remains of a porcelain horse and clock that had lately adorned the fireplace mantle as well as other fragments that I could not identify.

Lady Catherine was standing with a half-torn throw pillow between her hands. White feathers dotted the floor and some still drifted in the air. Her hair was unkempt and one feather had settled in an errant strand. Her traveling dress still had dust from the road, although she had evidently washed her hands and face.

"Why are you here, Mr. and Mrs. Collins?" She demanded, her tone sharp.

Mr. Collins blanched and I feared that he might faint, but instead he immediately made a deep bow and then squeaked out, "We came to wait on you to see if there was anything you might desire."

I curtsied and added, "Lady Catherine, we only wish to be of service to you, but will leave forthwith if that is your preference." I rather hoped she would send us away.

Instead she pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Collins and yelled, "_Your cousin_ is determined to have him, although as of yet they are apparently not engaged. Miss Bennet refused to promise not to marry him. Despite all the kindness and attention I showed her during her visit, apparently she still does not understand the deference that is owed her betters."

She pointed a finger at me next, "Your obstinate, headstrong, selfish _friend _has drawn him in by her arts and allurements. My most prudent nephew has been made to forget himself and what he owes Anne and his family.

"And when I went to see Darcy in London, he was even worse! He refused, _refused_, to give me the assurance that he would not seek Miss Bennet's hand. He had the audacity to question the arrangements for his betrothal to Anne as arranged between his mother and me. Ungrateful child. You may be sure that should he wed without my sanction that I will be as a stranger to them. Such a pollution of the shades of Pemberley, my nephew to be brothers with the son of his late father's steward and to gain as his sister Wickham's wanton left handed wife, only lately having gained his name at the expense of her father and uncles! It is not to be borne! Oh my poor Anne, she would have been the best of wives to him."

When she paused, Mr. Collins attempted to soothe her. "Oh yes, Miss de Bourgh was born to be a duchess, the court has lost its brightest flower and Mr. Darcy cannot understand her true value if he would chose to throw her over for my wilful cousin who refused my hand in a show of obstinacy."

"Mr. Collins, quit your prattling. I am in no mood to hear it. If you had had the spine to force Miss Bennet's hand and have her marry you and stay within her sphere, I would not be dealing with her now. Take your wife and depart for the parsonage; do not come back until I summon you."

His face crumbled like a pastry trod upon, but he dutifully obeyed. As we walked to the parsonage, he went faster and faster and I almost had to run to keep up with him. He was muttering something to himself, but it took me a while to make it out. He was saying over and over again, "What if she casts me out?"

I tried to be reassuring, "She cannot remove you from your post and surely she will be herself once more after she has time to adjust to the situation."

He stopped and turned to me, his eyes anguished, "Charlotte, I am not worried about my position. I am worried she will nevermore think I am fit for her company and her summons will never come. She is the only one for many years to believe in me. I cannot lose that!"

I embraced him and he slumped his larger frame against me, taking as much comfort as he could from me. I told him, "I think she was just angry at the whole world and you were a convenient target; likely she was trying to protect you from her mood."

He did not argue with me. We were not summoned to Rosings for nearly a month. I would have enjoyed the respite if not for how depressed Mr. Collins was, and how little time I had with William.

Two wasted weeks passed until at last it occurred to me that playing the naughty boy and correcting governess might draw him out of his misery and indeed it did. One evening I told him, "Naughty boy, you have been neglecting your studies and need to be punished, now drop your drawers and take it like a man."

He squeaked out, "Yes, governess." The switch which had stayed under our bed (either Bates was a poor hand at cleaning adequately, or had swept under the bed and then replaced the stick), had become brittle and broke from the first blow.

At that point I had to get creative. First I struck him with my hand, but it hurt my hand, so I decided to try something else, something I knew was possible, but that my husband had never requested.

I instructed, "Lie down, I wish to see how much self-control you have. My lost husband always begged for me to suck upon his sugar stick, but I feared ending up with his seed inside my mouth. I regret never giving him such pleasure and if he should ever return, I wish to see how long he may endure."

My naughty boy reddened slightly, but most obediently lay down and told me, "Anything you wish, governess. I shall be good, you shall see!"

I was not prepared for how much I would enjoy seeing his pleasure grow from the application of my mouth and the simultaneous attention I gave to his thingamabobs. I felt my own desire cause me to be slick and ready. When he murmured, "Governess, I cannot take any more," I stopped.

I then declared, "Naughty boy, your governess needs you," and climbed atop him. I moved slowly, wishing for his ardor to cool a bit as I did not want it to be over so soon. Oh what heights of delight we both reached!

Perhaps a week later, when we still did not know how long we would be banished from Rosings, Mr. Collins received a thin letter from Mr. Bennet. As he sent perhaps one letter replying to every ten of Mr. Collins's, we were both most curious as to what it said. Mr. Collins told me, "I am certain it is a confirmation that Lady Catherine's worst fears have come to pass. I am not fit to read it." Therefore, he passed it over to me.

I opened it and saw with my own eyes that it was only a few lines long. I read it aloud to Mr. Collins. Mr. Bennet confirmed the engagement of Eliza to Mr. Darcy and instructed Mr. Collins to console Lady Catherine.

Mr. Collins harrumphed at that line, "I would like to know how I can console her if I am not even allowed in her presence." He babbled on and on about the services he wished he could render to his most marvelous patroness (conveniently forgetting that she was being most mean to him).

I tuned him out (I was gaining increased proficiency in such a skill) as I considered the last two lines further. Mr. Bennet wrote, "But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give." I wondered how we could best stand by him. It occurred to me that if we visited my parents at the right time, we could attend their wedding.

However, likely if we both attended, Mr. Collins's flattery would undo any benefit to us when he might be thinking of who was worthy of any livings he had to bestow. I wanted to do something that would truly earn Mr. Darcy's gratitude.

Then it occurred to me that given the current discord between Lady Catherine and her nephew Mr. Darcy, it was most unlikely that he and Eliza would be able to benefit from her excellent marital advice. I could not imagine a scenario where Mr. Collins might be able to effectively advise Mr. Darcy, but I could imagine that I could advise Eliza. I could only hope that her courage would be enough to make use of such advice and that she might credit me with being the source. Perhaps, just perhaps, if I could help the Darcys achieve a physical pleasure similar to our own, I might advance my husband's career.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Elizabeth's POV**

I was delighted that Charlotte chose to time her visit with her family to coincide with my wedding to Mr. Darcy. I was even more delighted that she chose to leave my cousin Mr. Collins behind. This choice showed great compassion for me.

Although I knew myself to be happy to be marrying Mr. Darcy, everything would be forever altered. I had the trepidation that I think all young women must feel in knowing that to gain her heart's desire and in cleaving to another that she will leave her family behind. However much my mother and younger sisters vex me, they are still my family. While it might sometimes be better to have some distance from them, it could only be realized at the expense of losing the geographic closeness to my beloved Papa and Jane. Although I knew Jane would continue to be a faithful correspondent, as had been proven once again in the last few months while she was in London and I in Kent, and later when she was home and I was touring the northern country with the Gardiners, I doubted that I would hear much from my father as he was a lackadaisical correspondent at best, sending only one brief note when I was staying with Charlotte, only to urge me to come home.

While I had no doubt that Mr. Darcy would be willing to listen my fears about how my life was changing, I did not want to burden him in such a way as there was nothing he could do about it. In Charlotte was someone who had recently done just what I was about to do and gained only material advantages rather than love, but still she knew something of what I would be losing even as I gained someone quite superior to the husband she had.

Charlotte called upon me at Longbourn the day after her arrival and then I called upon her at Lucas Lodge on the following day. However on each of these occasions there was no opportunity for me to confide in her. Finally, three days before my joint wedding during which my sister would marry Mr. Bingley, we finally had the privacy I desired as when we chose to walk out from Longbourn, no one volunteered to join us.

When we were well away from the house, I told her of my fears regarding being separated from my family. She told me, "You shall always care for them, but having accepted a husband, his concerns and the life you build will take precedence over your previous life. Yes, you shall miss them, but what you are gaining shall more than make up for what you lose." We talked a bit more about this, and then about Charlotte's expectation for a child. I was well pleased for her.

Charlotte surprised me then when she changed the topic of our discourse. "I hope I am not exceeding the bounds of our friendship, but it seems to me that I could offer you superior advice about what you should expect relative to your marital duties, that would benefit you greatly."

I had trouble keeping my expression neutral. Why is is that everyone seemed to want to have such a talk with me? My Aunt Gardiner already told us she would have a separate talk with Jane and me after my mother had her say; my Aunt Phillips had said she would be joining my mother when she gave us her talk. What I really wished was not to have to talk to anyone about something so mortifying. I felt I had the basic knowledge that I needed and that given how much my husband to be cared for me that the matter would be properly sorted out without anyone else's assistance.

Too, I, myself was not wholly ignorant as perhaps other maidens were. Growing up on an estate, I certainly had my fair share of observing animal copulation, and also observed the human method as well (although I was uncertain how representative the human example was).

When I was twelve, not once but twice I came across Hattie Robinson (our milk maid, sister to our upstairs maid Hester) in an amorous embrace with Nigel Foots (our groom) in the stable. I had known Mr. Foots my whole life and he was almost of an age with my father, while Hattie had only lately become our milk maid and was a young woman of perhaps eighteen, with freckles and red hair.

If our mother had a more set and rigorous schedule for our education, perhaps I never would have seen them, but on some mornings my mother had many tasks for us and most earnestly tried to develop our skills and on other mornings we might be called upon to accompany Mama on calls or on a shopping trip instead. Too, Papa might summon me to read a book with him or play a game of chess. But on other days we were left to our own devices after only an hour or two.

While I enjoyed long walks when given the opportunity, Jane liked to go for a ride when she was at leisure. She decided it would be even more enjoyable if I could learn to ride too. It was always uncertain whether there would be time for her to help me learn to ride on any particular day. On some days we might visit the stable twice and some weeks hardly at all.

Jane had a horse that she nominally shared with my mother (Mother had not ridden in years). While there was no second mare for me, Jane optimistically believed that if I could master her mare that Papa could be prevailed to buy me a mount also.

When I first I observed Hattie and Mr. Foots, it was only an hour before dinner and likely he had no idea that we would even be visiting the stable that day. I had escaped earlier than Jane as at the last instant Mary had asked for help with her embroidery and Jane was too kind to put her off.

I did not really know what I was seeing when I entered the stable and saw them together. Hattie and Mr. Foots were against each other, kissing, but rather than them standing, he was leaning over her as she reclined on some hay. But the longer I watched, the more I realized that more than just kissing was going on.

I heard him say, "Oh Hattie, please! I need you!" I could not hear what she said back, but from the way her arms pulled him closer, I imagine she gave her permission. It seemed from Mr. Foots's arm movements that his hands were working at something near his waist, but as his back was to me, I could not see what he was doing. After that, I saw him ruck up Hattie's skirts but she was not exposed as Mr. Foots was across her between her legs. Then suddenly he was closer to her still and she made a sound of distress which he silenced with a kiss. Then he proceeded to bounce against her.

I could not pull my eyes against such an arresting scene as I slowly backed out of the stable. When I had just finished exiting and turned around to walk back to the house, along came Jane.

She asked me, "Why did you not wait for me?" Then seeing my face asked, "Whatever is the matter?"

I told her, "I do not feel like practicing my riding today."

She told me, "You look a bit shaky, but let us at least say hello to the horses. I brought them the ends of some carrots and the core of my apple for Buttercup." She walked inside before I could stop her, but apparently our voices carried sufficiently that the activities within were put to an end. Mr. Foots was employed with picking out the hooves of one of the horses and of Hattie, I saw no sign. It was all so ordinary that I half thought I had imagined the whole thing.

Mr. Foots greeted us warmly, "Good afternoon Miss Bennet and Miss Bennet." It was his way to always call each of us Miss Bennet; it was how he had greeted us since we were little girls.

Jane greeted him warmly and they talked a bit about the health of the horses while I remained silent and hung back. Then Jane gave treats to the horses. Buttercup received the best treat for what Jane called a core had much fruit left upon it. Afterwards, Jane bid me closer to pet Buttercup's snout, which I did.

I really did not want to visit the stable the next morning given what I had seen, so I feigned a bit of illness the next couple of days. However, the following week Jane was insistent that I get back to learning to ride. "You have been well these few days; there is nothing to be scared of, you are ready to sit on my mare as I lead her about."

As I had no wish to discuss what I had seen with Jane, I complied. I most sensibly determined that if I always accompanied her and we were talking loudly enough that we would never see anything else we should not. As time passed, I began to relax as I never saw anything amiss. I debated with myself about whether these measures were effective or whether what I seen before was an anomaly.

Within two weeks, I was trotting on Buttercup in a paddock, but still felt it an awkward business on sidesaddle. I knew I could not sit as men did, but always felt I was on the verge of sliding off her back. Additionally, the riding left me feeling sore. Perhaps I would have enjoyed the activity more had I not seen Mr. Foots watching as I rode her. The way I bounced in the saddle made me think about how he had bounced on her. There was nothing improper in Mr. Foots's gaze, but still . . . while I did not yet have a womanly form, Jane was starting to have one, and Hattie was only a few years older than Jane.

Perhaps three weeks later, I was late to set off with Jane for the stables. She was eager to help me get Buttercup up to a canter and I was trying to learn for her sake, and hoped it would really be true that such a gait would leave me less saddle-sore.

I was running late that morning as I could not find one of my riding gloves. I had worn it two days earlier but then somehow misplaced it. Mary was trying to help me find it.

Jane was supposed to be waiting for me outside, but when I finally gave up looking and decided to proceed, I could not find Jane. I concluded she became tired of waiting for me and was already in the stable visiting her mare.

I hurried over there (not running of course as that would be very unladylike and I did not want a scolding from my mother, should she see me from a window, I saved my running for when I was well out of view). I slipped in the ajar door and saw Jane paused just inside, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

Beyond her, as I had seen before, Mr. Foots and Hattie were together. This time I saw more kissing and him rubbing one of his hands along her clothed bosom. This was less alarming than what I had seen the last time.

I grabbed Jane's hand and was attempting to pull her away toward the door (but she seemed rooted to the spot and I was most determined that they not see us) when Mary burst in waving my glove triumphantly. I saw the exact moment when she saw what was going on behind us. She dropped the glove, her mouth a wide "O", her face draining of all color.

I grabbed Mary's hand with my free hand. As I did so I heard a loud moan from Mr. Foots and then an answering moan from Hattie, and could not help but look at them again. Now they were pressed against each other and the bouncing had once again commenced. Hattie seemed to be enjoying the activity rather more than she had when I observed them previously, as her unclothed legs were wrapped around Mr. Foots. Her legs were pale, and crossed at the ankle, just above his waist, contrasting starkly with his brown garb.

"Stop looking!" I hissed as quietly as I could. I pulled my sisters away from there. I felt like each step we took was very loud, but apparently Hattie and Mr. Foots were too occupied to notice, or perhaps our sounds were masked by the shuffling and snorting sounds the horses were making, as we escaped their notice and their activities continued unabated while we were still within ear-shot.

The three of us walked back to the house in silence. All I could think about was him and her and the motion and the sounds. I could not imagine my parents taking that much pleasure in such activities, but the five of us were proof enough that they had not neglected their marital duties.

When we were inside, the three of us went into the room I shared with Jane and closed the door. Mary asked me, "What we they doing, Lizzy?"

I really did not want to say what I suspected.

Then she asked, "Were they sinning?"

"Yes," said Jane in a flat voice.

I asked them, "Do you think we should tell Papa?" I had wondered about this many times since I had observed them the first time, but as the days had ticked by, I could not imagine approaching him and having him ask why I had waited so long to tell him. Jane nodded and said nothing.

Mary looked scared, "I am not supposed to bother Papa."

"Perhaps this would be a good time for you to practice the piano forte?" I suggested.

She nodded eagerly and left us.

Jane and I walked to Papa's book room together. While we walked I could hear Mary banging away at our piano forte.

I knocked on the door.

"Come in Lizzy," Papa called (recognizing my knock). Then when he saw us he asked, "What is it girls?"

We looked at each other. I did not really have the words for what I had seen and I doubted Jane did either. Finally I said, "Just a few minutes ago we saw Mr. Foots and Hattie together in the stable."

"Together?"

Jane found her voice, "Together as in man and wife, at least that is how it seemed to me, but perhaps I am mistaken."

My father's face grew red, he got up and ran out of there. We watched from his book room window as he ran toward the stable. A few minutes later, we watched Hattie burst out of the stable and run towards the house. It was clear from the way she was bearing that she was making for the servants' entrance, seeking out Hester I supposed.

Curious, we hurried down. We heard sobs, cries and angry tones. Following them, we stood listening near a door that connected the back of the house with the front. I heard sobbing which I thought must be coming from Hattie and another voice which sounded like Hester, but was very angry.

Hester was saying, "You little fool, do you not realize what you have done to me, to our whole family?"

"But he loves me," Hattie insisted.

"If he truly loved you, I would have heard the bans called for you. Do you not understand what you have cost me? I will be sacked, too!"

Our mother came upon us then and told us, "Girls, this is not your concern." She sent us to visit our younger sisters in the nursery.

Later than evening, Jane, Mary and I were dining with our parents (Kitty and Lydia still ate in the nursery). Jane asked Mama the question that was on both our minds, "What happened to Hattie and Hester?"

Our mother looked over at our father. He said evenly, "They do not work at Longbourn anymore."

"And Mr. Foots?" I asked.

My father looked confused. "He will continue on as usual."

"That is not fair," exclaimed Mary. "Mr. Foots was the one doing it to her."

"Mary saw it, too?" Papa exclaimed.

We nodded.

Papa looked decidedly uncomfortable, "Your mother will explain it to you later.

When later came, I was not satisfied by Mama's explanation. There was much talk of Eve causing the fall, that men were brutes who always trying to pluck a lady's flower and that a true lady would never be alone with a man who was not a relative until he became her husband.

Later I went to see Papa. I told him, "Mary is right. It is not fair."

"Fair or not Lizzy, if we retained the Robinson sisters, everyone would think we promote vice. Allowing their actions to continue would taint our whole household."

"But Hester did not do anything, and why does Mr. Foots get to stay?"

He ignored the first part of my question and answered, "He is a man like any other, who will give way to temptation if tempted enough. Hattie was in the stable after all. She should have never left her cows. He has been with me for many years and nothing like this has ever happened before."

"That you know of."

"That I know of" he agreed, "but such activities often bear fruit and I will not suffer any merry-begotten children to be associated with my household."

I thought about this for a minute. "Will Hattie have a baby?"

"I hope not," he told me.

"Will Mr. Foots marry her?"

"I recommended that he do so," he paused and I felt he was censoring himself, not wishing to say something inappropriate for my twelve-year-old ears. "I do not get the impression that he will, though."

"Why ever not? He liked her well enough to," I did not know how to put it, "do what they did."

"That may be so, but if a man respects a woman as he ought, has a real regard, affection and true love for her, he will never want to risk blemishing her character. An honorable man will be restrained and wait."

I felt guilty, horribly guilty for what my report had wrought and how it had hurt Hattie and Hester. Hattie was always very kind to us; she would let us have fresh milk if we came to see her. Hester was a sweet girl who often fixed our hair when she was done making the beds and washing the floors; she was the younger of the sisters, no more than sixteen.

Jane continued to visit the stables as she had before, but I stayed away. Her entreaties to resume learning to ride did not sway me.

I asked her, "How can you bear to see Mr. Foots after he ruined Hattie?"

Jane told me, "I am sure he must be sorry. His passions must have just gotten the better than him that day and I am certain Hattie must have believed they would marry to act as she did. But I see now that they would have made an ill match. It is all an unfortunate business, but he is a good groom and I am certain that such hard-working sisters will find new positions before too long."

I did not try to correct Jane's misapprehensions. She always saw the best in everyone and if it allowed her to sleep well at night, I had no wish to change that. But as for me, I could not look at Mr. Foots without becoming angry.

I had no desire to step in the stables or the dairy ever again. Both places were ruined for me.

Jane urged me to resume learning to ride, but I stoutly refused. Then she tried to recruit Mary to learn. It seemed, however, that I had an ally in Mary. She told Jane, "Mr. Foots is a sinner who has not repented. We are not to associate with adulterers or fornicators."

I quickly forgot the riding skills I had gained, Mary never learned to ride at all, and Jane never even offered to teach Kitty or Lydia.

I did my best not to think about Hattie and Mr. Foots over the years, but when Lydia ran away with Mr. Wickham, I saw them once again in my mind on the hay. Then later, when I felt into a restless sleep, Hattie became Lydia and it was Mr. Wickham who rucked her skirts up and had his way with her.

I was relieved when I found out Lydia was to become Mrs. Wickham. Mr. Wickham was a scoundrel to be sure, but her being married was far better than being single, and the reputations of our family might thereby be redeemed.

While our position in life protected us somewhat, the Robinson sisters were not so fortunate. Their termination from our employ and my mother's undoubted willingness to explain just why to everyone who would listen, meant there was no redemption possible for them. Instead, as Mr. Foots did not marry Hattie, this led to her and her sister's employment in the most unfortunate of occupations.

I knew I was not to know about what took place at Miss Watson's, but it was more of less an open secret. That was where some unfortunate women lived and plied their trade,on a cross street right off the principal street that ran through Meryton. It was one of the nicer establishments. While before the militia came it catered to mostly the landed gentlemen (the working men had a place of their own, whose existence I knew of, though I was forbidden to walk in that part of Meryton), I knew the officers had taken to visiting it lately, too, though Colonel Foster and Captain Carter were perhaps more circumspect about the matter later, likely after a talk from my uncle. After all, Lydia herself had reported to me that Aunt Phillips told her that these officers visited Miss Watson's less and Clarke's Library more (Clark's being the tea shop that also contained the circulating library).

My knowledge that both Hattie and Hester had ended up at Miss Watson's was not a matter of supposition. A year or two after they left Longbourn I had seen them walking about Meryton with the proprietress herself, and some of her other women. They all wore low cut gowns, and even in the daytime had on powder and rouge. They were escorted by two large men, who I had seen guard the outside of the establishment.

I had been walking at the time with Charlotte (who was nominally our chaperone) and Mary when we cross paths with them. Charlotte said nothing and ignored them, but Mary looked right at them and loudly opined, "God sees your evil deeds."

Most of the women had laughed, though Hester had enough shame left in her to blush. I felt most sorry for her in being forced to take up that occupation.

Miss Watson proclaimed, "There would be no need for us at all, if not for the desires of men." She looked at Charlotte and commented, "Sir William Lucas is happy enough with what we offer, is he not, Susan?"

"Yes, very," a dark-haired, voluptuous woman responded with a smirk. "Why he visited me twice last week and I expect him again tonight!"

I was glad Miss Watson had not made a similar statement about my own father. As far as I knew he sought no comforts outside his marriage despite the mismatch between him and my mother. But then again, unlike Mrs. Lucas (from whom Charlotte had inherited her rather plan appearance) my mother was still a handsome woman as my father himself acknowledged, so perhaps she was more than adequate for my father in the marital bed. Again I was reminded that there were five of us.

We had been very near Miss Watson's when we first met Mr. Wickham in the company of Mr. Denny. They had come from that direction, but I did not know if they had been visiting that house.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy came upon us and I saw the striking contrast in their countenances. I was happy for Jane's sake that when the occupants of Netherfield left they continued riding down the road, rather than turning in the direction of Miss Watson's establishment. Of course that did not mean that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy never visited there. . . . I never heard that they did, but of course that is not the sort of thing to be bandied about (despite Lydia apparently doing just that regarding Colonel Forster and Captain Carter with Aunt Phillips).

"Can I share what I have learned with you?" Charlotte asked me, snapping me from my musings.

I knew she meant it as a kindness, but it was the last thing I wanted to hear about. Just the thought of her with Mr. Collins turned my stomach. But better her than you, a small voice whispered to me.

"I think I will receive instruction enough," I told her. "It seems all of my female relatives are most willing and prepared to talk to us about our duties."

"And well you should listen to them. I am hopeful they will have good wisdom for you. However, my mother's instruction was not all that useful. She never spoke of what I really needed to hear, that a woman can gain the ultimate satisfaction that I thought was only reserved for men."

This did intrigue me, I will admit, but again the thought of Mr. Collins made it inconceivable to me. My silence must have been enough encouragement as she began to instruct me.

I tried to listen, truly I did, but the discussion of where kisses could be placed and the ways that a woman's body could be caressed was too much for me, especially when I imagined Mr. Collins doing that to Charlotte. Almost immediately I interrupted, exclaiming, "You cannot be in earnest, that you encourage him in engaging in such acts! my dear Charlotte-impossible!"

She asked me, "Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it is incredible that my William should be able to give me much delight in marital congress simply because to your imagination such acts seem abhorrent? You must approach the marital state with a willingness to touch and be touched, to give and receive pleasure. You must be willing to tell your husband what gives you satisfaction. I have seen how Mr. Darcy looks at you, and I am sure he will wish to please you. I did not have similar expectations when entering the marital state. I am not romantic and only sought a comfortable home but I have received something far better. The act made us grow far closer. Indeed I have grown to love him. I only wish you to have similar felicity with Mr. Darcy."

I took a moment to collect myself and said, "I must congratulate you in this; I am happy for you if indulging your husband in such a way makes you happy."

"Oh, Eliza, you do not understand about what you speak. While is is certainly satisfactory to do my duty to my husband, it can be so much more, not a duty but a joy."

I decidedly turned the conversation in another direction and we did not speak further of the feather bed jig.

The day before my wedding, Jane and I both received our instructions from Mama and Aunt Phillips. Aunt Phillips fetched us and took us to Mama's sitting room, locking the door behind the four of us. I noticed that there was a plate with a large smoked sausage, a small pickle and a wedge of cheese. I wondered how long she planned to keep us there that we would need a snack.

My mother began by picking up the sausage. "This, my dear daughters, is what awaits you in the marital bed." She waved the sausage about, right in front our faces. "This is roughly what a man's member looks like."

Jane and I exchanged glances. It seemed so large, and I was somewhat horrified. Could our husbands truly have something so big and if so, however would it fit? Men's fashions being what they were, we had certainly seen the outline of our fiancés' members through their breaches, but I had not know how much they would grow.

I asked my question about it fitting and my mother laughed a bit and exclaimed, "So there really is something that my Lizzy does not know? If it can fit a baby later, it can fit anything a man has (though I will admit your body may need to stretch at first to accommodate it and the first time can hurt as your maiden-head is pierced)." She then thrust the sausage in and out through a circle formed with her thumb and pointer finger, to demonstrate how things worked. As she did this motion she intoned, "In and out, in and out, though only part way out until he is finished. Depending upon your husbands' eagerness, and they will be plenty eager that first time, have no doubt . . . . Why your father only managed to move it in and out once or twice that first time; I had no time to decide what I thought of it before he was done."

I felt mortified. This was the last thing I wanted to hear about my father, but my mother continued on.

"Of course when they are next ready, it could go on and on!" She continued thrusting the sausage in and out of the circle of her fingers, resuming her chant of "in and out, in and out." She must have repeated these three words fifty times!

"Then he will spill his seed and it will shrink to perhaps a quarter of its size and become floppy." She set down the sausage and grabbed the little pickle. It was no longer than my little finger, but fatter.

This was then followed up with Mama's next demonstration. "Now one thing all men love is to have you handle their members." She demonstrated by stroking her hand along the sausage. "But you must remember to be gentle, it is a rather delicate thing and you must never say anything about how silly it looks as that will cause it to wither and your husband will not be pleased. It is of course highly ridiculous, but men are inordinately proud of them. Why I could not say, but they are."

"Too true," Aunt Phillips nodded. "Why Mr. Phillips would not talk to me for a week when I said something of the sort to him. He then felt he had to prove his prowess by coming at me repeatedly with it for the next few days, which made me rather sore. Never insult it!"

"Now rubbing it is good in two situations. One, if you need to give your husband relief when you simply cannot accommodate him, such as when you are having your monthlies."

"But you husband may not want to refrain at such a time," Aunt Phillips interrupted, "Mr. Phillips wants it regardless; he is not fastidious. If your husband acts likewise, make sure to have extra bedding beneath you as you do not want blood stains on your feather bed."

"You must always submit to your husbands," my mother emphasized, "even if what they want seems strange or disgusting. They may visit you daily or even more than daily, especially at first. However, there are times when you must find other ways to give them satisfaction. For example, if you have just had a child, it is important to give your body some time to heal."

"How can we heal after a baby," Jane asked, "if we are to always submit?"

"Ah, that leads me to the next part of your education." Mother then held the sausage aloft again. "Another thing your husband may want, is for you to give him pleasure with your mouth." She demonstrated, showing what appeared to be most practiced skill. I was most astonished and did not even chance looking over at Jane as I feared I might laugh.

"But timing is everything. To give your husbands children, you must not let him spill here," she pointed to her mouth, "but here," she pointed to the hole she reformed with her thumb and forefinger.

"When a man is satisfied in this aspect of his marriage, whether from occupying you or you giving him pleasure with your mouth, he will be more than happy to be generous with his purse strings." She nodded knowingly.

I remembered then, a time when Mama had been after Papa to give her the funds to purchase new curtains. He had said quite firmly, "We do not need new drapes." However, two days later, Mama had us accompany her when she visited the draper and I watched as she ordered drapes made from the most expensive material he had. I had whispered to her, "But Mama, I thought Papa did not want to pay for new drapes."

She had smiled to herself and responded, "He gave me permission this morning." I had thought at the time that mother had pitched such a fit that he had finally given in, but now I wondered if he had consented after a session similar to Mama's demonstration with the sausage. Was her skill why Father never managed to save more money for our dowries?

After Mama was done, she set the down sausage in a basin and washed it. It was rather disturbing to see it bobbing in the water. She dried it off well and set it back on the plate.

She then held up the cheese and said, "Do you see this cheese? If you ever see anything resembling this on either your body or his, it should be washed away. Both men and women must keep their bodies clean. Wetness in your parts is normal, proper, helps the coming together work better, but anything smelly that is not solved with washing may require help. For womanly issues, I know of many cures."

She turned her attention on Jane and said, "It is most fortunate that you will be settled near me so that I will be able to advise you directly on both these issues and how to best satisfy your husband."

Mother then turned to me, "Lizzy, there is only so much that can be written in a letter to me. For what you cannot put in a letter, seek the counsel of other married women. Some midwives, especially, can help you with womanly complaints."

Then she added, "Lydia, though she never had the benefit of my counsel just before or after being married, seemed to have everything well in hand, but I have a feeling that it will be more difficult for you to please Mr. Darcy. Given his wealth, he must have had his share of talented mistresses."

This idea horrified me, but it was logical. I hoped, though, that if that was the case that when our marriage commenced that he might be more like my father than Sir William.

She turned again to Jane, "Mr. Bingley likely had his share as well, but as he is always willing to please and be pleased, I dare say that will hold true of your marital activities."

I could not help but think then about how Mr. Darcy had criticized my family in his Hunsford proposal. What if he similarly found fault in our marital congress? But then I thought about how hard he had since tried to improve my impression of him and how much he had done for Lydia. Surely such a man was as ready to please and be pleased as Mr. Bingley? But still, I worried a bit.

"Do you have any questions?" Mama asked. Neither of us did, or if we did we were not willing to ask her and prolong this talk.

"Oh good, as that is done I am ready for a snack." She then sliced up the sausage, pickle and cheese to serve it to us. Neither Jane nor I felt like eating it, though Mama and Mrs. Phillips ate with gusto.

Later that day, my Aunt Gardiner found a few moments alone with me and my sister. She asked, "Do you think you learned what you needed from your mother and Mrs. Phillips?" The two of us nodded, I did not feel that I could bear much more of such talk. Perhaps she saw that in my countenance as she was less blunt and more vague, telling us only, "It may be awkward at first, but it can be enjoyable. Remember, it takes time to get used to every aspect of marriage including this one, but you both have husbands that love you, so all will work out in the end." I could only hope she was right.

I woke up early on my wedding day to the sound of thunder and the torrent of rain. Fortunately the storm did not last long and the carriage was able to take us to the church, but there was no avoiding getting mud on my slippers and petticoat despite my efforts to hold my skirt aloft. Mr. Darcy did not seem to mind, though, as after our wedding when we were in his carriage heading back to Longbourn for our wedding breakfast, he told me, "You asked me before when my feelings for you started to change and I told you I was in the middle before I knew that had begun, but that was not really the truth."

"What was then?"

"It was seeing you when you first arrived at Netherfield, a blush on your cheeks from your walk, your eyes bright and even your dirty skirts. I must admit I had the most inappropriate thoughts about you."

Mr. Darcy pulled off his gloves and at his urging I removed my gloves as well. He gave me an intense look and then placed a light hand on either side of my face. His hands were a little cold. He gently tugged me forward and I willingly moved toward him as he, too, leaned forward. Then he kissed me.

We had kissed before, after I accepted his proposal and a time or two afterwards when we had a few moments alone (my parents kept me well guarded once we were officially engaged and I never tried to escape my chaperones). But those kisses had not prepared me for the fiery intensity of our first married kiss. His mouth delved deeply into mine and I felt a jolt of desire and wetness down below. We continued to kiss and one of his hands glided down my face and around to the back of my neck, while the other began to glide over my person. First this hand traced the exposed skin around my neck and collar bone to the neckline of my gown. Then it slid down atop my dress to cup one of my breasts. My own hands by this time were around Mr. Darcy as well, one caught in the curls just above his collar and the other on his shoulder where it was frustrated from feeling much of his form from the wool and padding.

I was enjoying myself, but then the carriage jolted to a stop. We had arrived.

With a little groan, he pulled himself away from me and tugged on his gloves. He then assisted me in pulling on my own.

"We will not stay too long," he told me. "I must be alone with you soon, Mrs. Darcy." The way he said Mrs. Darcy, low and thick with desire made me feel giddy, but I forced myself to stand up without hesitation as he helped me down from the carriage.

During our wedding breakfast we were often separated as well wishers spoke with us. I was horribly distracted in thinking of all that would take place on this day. I knew I ought to be giving my neighbors and family my undivided attention, to make a few more memories with my dearest Jane, but I was very aware of where Mr. Darcy was at all times. I kept imagining what might happen in the carriage and in his London home.

When we left, Mr. Darcy immediately drew the carriage curtains closed, shutting out the now bright sun and letting us start to get to know the other's physical form. By the time we arrived in London, my whole body was flooded with desire. Everything was new and glorious and though he had restrained himself to delving no higher under my gown than my knee, I knew I wished to have the physical aspect of our marriage reach its final conclusion, so wet was I with want.

There was the tedious business of meeting the servants, tidying up from the dust of the road, and even trying to eat dinner (the food was elegant but I could hardly taste it as fully caught up as I was with imagining what could follow). Finally when we were alone in my new chambers and dressed for bed, there was nothing to restrain us.

We kissed and touched, first over our thin garments, and then underneath. It was not long before both of us were naked, though covered somewhat by bedding. His still cold fingers almost felt like they were burning me as he touched and squeezed me here and there. Eventually his hands made their way to the outside of my secret place (it was the most intense feeling) and things followed on from them. As his fingers got to know me, I tried not to hear my mother intoning, "In and out, in and out."

Even as I reveled in these new feelings, I wanted more. A few moments later, he called out, "Oh, E-liz-a-beth!" He said my name slowly, savoring each of the four syllables. "This is better than I even imagined it to be. I need you so much, but I can wait longer if you are not ready yet."

I had no need to consider my answer, "I need you, too."

His member replaced his fingers. It all felt very good and I never felt the feared pain, only stretching. I enjoyed it all very much but it was over too quickly, before I could achieve the same level of joy as he. But I did not worry about that; I was certain that would come on another occasion.

We did not stay in London long and my marriage and life at Pemberley was all I could have hoped for. Naturally Fitz had many duties in seeing to his estate, but he always made time for me. It was very pleasant to read together in the library, to dine together, to listen to Georgiana play the piano forte, and even to play it myself though I had not her skill. Too, I had much to do in seeing to the needs of our tenants and meeting with the housekeeper about what needed to be done. I was happy, life was good, and I would have been wholly satisfied I think, had Charlotte never mentioned that a woman could have equal joy with a man.

Each night we had pleasure together and I always enjoyed it, but never as much as he did. Sometimes I felt very close to something, but I had no notion of how to achieve it. Once I even cried after he finished. He was very distressed, asking, "What did I do wrong? Did I hurt you somehow?"

I tried to explain, "I was feeling everything we did very intensely. It was so delightful when you were touching me, and I liked everything. I felt that I was about to experience a passion equal to your own, but then I did not get there. I was not trying to cry. I am not even sure why I am crying, just that I needed some outlet. To feel some relief."

He held me as I continued to sob. He told me, "If you can have that, I want it for you. I just wish I knew how to help you get it; I do not know what to do."

"It is all right," I told him, even as my throat felt thick. I tried to stop my tears for his sake, but I could not help but sob some more.

The next day when I was alone, I recollected that Charlotte told me that a husband could kiss me "there" and decided I would ask my husband for that.

That evening we came together, he said, "I am determined to give you everything you deserve. I think I have been making an error. When you have been enjoying yourself, I always thought that then it was time for us to come together, but not tonight. Tonight is all about giving pleasure to you. But you must tell me what feels the best to you."

I must have blushed bright red as I told him where I wanted him to kiss and lick me, but he was more than willing, pausing after starting for a moment to say, "Oh Lizzy, you taste so good." I enjoyed everything that night, but still I could not reach that place which beckoned me. Eventually his tongue and fingers slowed and I allowed, "I do not think I will get there tonight." When he stopped, I sobbed once more.

The next night I told him, "Fitz, do not worry about it tonight. I like all of it. Maybe Charlotte was wrong."

"Charlotte?"

"She is the one who told me that I woman could enjoy the marital bed just as much as a man. Apparently my cousin is skilled in this regard."

"Mr. Collins? Mr. Collins! How can he do that for his wife if I cannot?"

That night Mr. Darcy was even more determined and persistent. Fortunately I was able to tell him with more exactitude what felt the best. He redoubled his efforts and suddenly I felt a quiver and squeezing inside with a pleasure that seemed to go on and on. I had no doubt then that this was exactly what Charlotte had described.

"You did it," I gasped out when the quivers lessened. "Please, I want to be with you now."

He needed no additional urging and as he plunged in and grazed his fingers against me, I reached that pinnacle once more. The feeling was so glorious and better still was sharing it with my beloved husband.

The next day, when we awoke, Fitz said, "I have a church living that has lately come open. I am feeling most generous to the Collinses. I think I will give it to Mr. Collins, on the condition that he keep Hunsford as his principal residence and employ a curate here."

I agreed.

A few days later, I was spending time with Jane (the Bingleys had lately moved to an estate near Pemberley) while Fitz and Charles were riding the estate. It was a struggle to bring up the subject of marital relations, but I wanted to make sure my sister was gaining a similar satisfaction from her husband.

Jane seemed embarrassed but finally informed me "I did not know such a thing was possible. I have never felt such a sensation myself."

I gave her some suggestions but wondered whether it would all come to naught. Would she be able to talk to her husband as frankly as was needed?

When I was alone with Fitz that night and I told him what I had told Jane, he admitted, "I had a similar talk with Charles." We concluded that was all we could do and hoped it would be enough.

The next time I saw Jane, she blushed and stammered, but confessed while looking at her feet, "Lately, I have gained full satisfaction from my marital relations and it is all due to you, and the talk Fitzwilliam had with Charlie. Thank you, Lizzy and give my thanks to Fitzwilliam as well." We promised each other then, that we would talk with Mary and Kitty if and when they were about to be married.

But as for our mother, neither of us was willing to talk to her. I hoped, though, that she had found a similar joy with my father.


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I had this chapter close to complete when I got on another device which, unbeknownst to me, I had left signed into this document. Despite my best efforts to go back out of it, it saved a several days old version, requiring me to start half-way over. I was so frustrated and had to give myself a long break before I started anew. I am trying to look on the bright side, though, and am hoping this new draft ended up the better for it. I anticipate one or two more chapters after this one, but as you doubtlessly know, I am often rather wrong in such predictions.  
_

**Chapter 8: Mr. Collin's POV**

After I paid the post and the letter was placed in my hands, I could hardly believe it. We had received letters from Pemberley before, or rather Charlotte had received letters from Mrs. Darcy, but never had any been addressed to me, and this one was from Mr. Darcy himself! As I walked home, I wondered what reason he had for writing me. Unless I was mistaken, he had no particular interest in me. I had tried to impress him back at the Netherfield Ball, but he had not seemed particularly receptive then, though of course I excused it to myself as merely being the way of great men. Who was I, after all, compared with him? Still, Mr. Darcy had visited the parsonage during his visit to Lady Catherine, and we had conversed a little then and when we were invited to Rosings. But that had been more than three years ago.

When I entered the parsonage, I could not resist shouting, "Charlotte, Charlotte, come quickly!"

She hurried to my side, our little girl Cathy on her hip, a position ever more precarious as Charlotte was gradually thickening with our next child. "I have a letter from Mr. Darcy."

"Not bad news I hope!" Her eyes flickered to the letter and I saw her calm as she saw it was just an ordinary letter without black edges which would portend a death. We were both sensitized to hearing about death and though I tried my best not to be a superstitious person, I had of course heard of the adage that bad luck comes in threes and there had already been two deaths. First, had been Lady Catherine's brother, the Earl. She had not even gotten to half mourning for his death when Miss de Bourgh sickened and then died over the winter. We had heard from the Lucases that Mrs. Bennet was doing poorly and likely to pass on soon, from a wasting illness, but Mr. Bennet had answered my latest letter a fortnight earlier and told me that she had shown improvement.

Logically, even if bad luck came in threes, the bad luck so far perhaps applied to Lady Catherine and not me, but Lady Catherine was so important in our lives that I could not help but feel personally affected by these losses. Still, I kept waiting for the third tragedy so I could quit feeling fear about Charlotte in her upcoming lying in and whether both she and the babe would be well. Having gained so much from my marriage, I feared its loss.

Although the letter had no black edging, I still feared that it might contain grievous news. My hands shook at bit as I opened the letter slowly.

Charlotte must have seen the fear in my countenance (or perhaps she felt her own dread) as she asked, "What does it say? Will you read it to me?"

She slid Cathy off her hip and onto our sofa. She ponderously sat herself down a moment later with a little sigh. Our daughter immediately snuggled up to Charlotte. It did my heart good to see that my wife was such a kind mother. It made me think about my own mother and if she would have done likewise had she lived. My Grandmama had indulged me when she could, but she was also working so hard to make sure we both had what we needed.

My eyes quickly scanned the letters for clues about the matter which caused Mr. Darcy to write the letter. There were the usual niceties, greetings from my cousin to my wife. I then I saw the words "grant" and "living." It was so unexpected and I knew I had done nothing to deserve it, yet still I would receive it.

My heart was in my throat and I had a sudden urge to cry and swoon. But as I was not a lady, I sat myself down, swallowed down the threatened tears and handed the letter to my wife to read.

She, too, skimmed (her eyes skipping over words like stones skipping on the surface of the water), until she arrived at the key paragraph and then she began to read:

_Recently, our vicar received his eternal reward and I find myself in need of a man of God to fill this position. I wish to grant you this living, which provides approximately 400 pounds per annum. However, knowing how much Lady Catherine depends upon you, especially after this past winter, I cannot wish to take you from her._

I interjected an aside to Charlotte, "By this he must be referring to poor Miss de Bourgh." We were both quiet for a time.

I thought about Lady Catherine's hollow, shocked eyes the day after Miss de Bourgh died. She had tended to her daughter herself, with her daughter's companion and Charlotte often at her side. Charlotte had actually weaned Cathy early and taught her to drink cow's milk from a cup, so that she could be gone whenever needed.

Cathy had become my constant companion when I visited parishioners and she charmed them one and all. They were all more comfortable with me when Cathy was along and I noticed that I was as well. I talked less and listened more.

I looked at Charlotte. She had a sad look upon her face, doubtless recalling Miss de Bourgh. She had borne the burden of supporting Lady Catherine through it all. Occasionally I had entered the sickroom to anoint Miss de Bourgh, to pray over her and offer what comfort I could, but Lady Catherine was often impatient with me. I tried to be understanding; even the thought of anything happening to Cathy or Charlotte terrified me.

To snap her out of her sad thoughts and get her to continue I asked, "And?" She looked up at me, then looked down and resumed reading.

_Therefore, I propose as a solution beneficial to all that you may take the living conditioned on you hiring an upright man (whom I must pre-approve) as a curate to minister to the souls at Pemberley. In this way you may continue your work at Hunsford. As you will have no need of the vicarage you may lease it to said curate and pay him a relatively modest sum for his services. Please write to me at your earliest convenience and we can sort out all of the particulars._

She paused then and looked up at me. I saw pride in her eyes. "Have I not said, William, that God would see your good deeds and wish to reward you?"

I knew that was not how God worked. The rain fell upon the crops of both the righteous and unrighteous, watering equally both.

I came to a sudden resolution, one that I knew could be undone by either my wife or Lady Catherine, but perhaps they both might support what I was now wanting to propose.

"I am glad that Mr. Darcy has reconciled with Lady Catherine some months earlier as otherwise I would have been placed in a difficult position. I dare say that Lady Catherine will be most understanding."

"Most understanding?"

"When we leave Hunsford and move to the vicarage at Pemberley."

"Mr. Collins!" Charlotte always called me Mr. Collins when she felt I was in error. "Mr. Darcy specifically requested that you remain here to minister to his aunt."

"And so he did, but imagine how pleased he will be when she gives me permission to tend to him directly instead."

Charlotte gave me a look. It was the look she gave me when there was something she thought she should tell me, but she was not sure how to do it, or if she should say anything at all. I waited.

She finally told me, "Mr. Collins, I think the Darcys wish to better our situation but not necessarily have us near. I have no reason to imagine that Mr. Darcy would welcome the level of devotion that Lady Catherine believes to be her due; as much as it grieves me to tell you this, I do not think he likes you. Too, as things stand I can see my family once or twice per year and you can also see your cousins. With the distance from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire, it would be nigh on impossible!"

"I am aware of the distance, Charlotte, but please do not reject my proposal out of hand. Although it has been my honor to offer my devotion to Lady Catherine, we must think of our family, Cathy and the new little one. I expect that this vicarage has more room. Even if Mr. Darcy does not especially like me, I have no reason to believe he would seek to curtail the close association between you and his wife. I know you would benefit from spending time with your dearest friend. Also, our children will grow up with theirs and are likely to benefit from such a close association. Furthermore, perhaps among people that do not know me, I might reinvent myself."

Charlotte took up my hand in her own, her eyes wet. I worried that I had upset her.

"William," she breathed, saying my name slowly in that savoring manner that always made me feel special, "_you _are my dearest friend. My love, I am glad you are thinking of how this could benefit all of us." She smiled at me then, so tenderly.

I could not help but reach out to her with one hand. We grasped each others' hands tightly, exchanged loving looks. By now Cathy was asleep, stretched out upon my wife's rapidly shrinking lap. I leaned down and kissed Charlotte. That kiss was sweet but quickly grew passionate. When we paused, I gently lifted Cathy from her lap, just enough so that Charlotte could slip out and I could settle our daughter back down. It was a practiced maneuver now and I kept my hand on her back for a few moments.

As I did so I studied our daughter's face. Cathy was perhaps not the prettiest child, but was winsome in her own right, with the happiest giggle and light blue eyes like my wife. She had hair like my wife's though lighter, and my lips, and the rest of her was perhaps a combination of each. Though not a son, she was a blessing. I drew a blanket over her.

I was already anticipating the arrival of our next child. Perhaps this one would be a son, but there was something most charming about imagining another daughter following after Cathy, imagining two little girls holding hands.

"William, where are you?" Charlotte gently called, recalling to me our purpose in leaving Cathy there to sleep.

As I left Cathy I came across Mrs. Bates. Before I could even utter a syllable she asked, "Going to take another nap with Mrs. Collins?" She had a knowing look in her eye.

I nodded, "Please tend to Cathy if she wakes up before us."

As I mounted the steps to catch up with my wife I considered what Mrs. Bates knew. I supposed that we were pretty obvious in taking naps together at least two or three times per week. We did indeed nap, but often that was not all we did. In her condition, Charlotte did require additional rest, but she said she rested better when she could curl up against me, and even better and more easily when she had gained joy. Although I could not always help her gain that peak, it was my pleasure to try. I felt pride that I could give this to my wife and that she was always so eager for my touch, even now! I anticipated touching her, caressing her; if it was possible, I wanted her even more now, seeing the evidence of our love growing in our belly, all her womanly curves more generous.

What horrible irony it was, though, that as her breasts swelled to feed the coming child that they were tender and required a most delicate touch from me just when I desired them most. Later, when the child was closer to being born her breasts would begin to drip amber drops. During her last pregnancy, she had been embarrassed about this, tried to hide her breasts from me, not wanted me to take suck. I had respected this of course.

She had rejected hiring the wet nurse that Lady Catherine tried to arrange, telling me, "Cathy is my child and I wish to be the one to feed her." I wanted to talk her out of it, to regain access to her breasts, but I did not argue with her.

I recalled that when her milk was first coming in that she let me touch one of her breasts and I had snatched my hand away (it had felt hard, almost like there was a rock beneath her skin). "Can this be normal?" she asked me. Of course I had no answer, but offered to send for the midwife. The midwife had reassured her that it was indeed soon they did not feel that way anymore, though they were still heavy, especially when it was almost time for Cathy to feed.

Although I had wanted to have access to her breasts myself, I could not but feel happy that Charlotte loved our child so much that she would give her child even this when Lady Catherine had already arranged for a wet nurse.

I did not deserve Charlotte, my current living, or my new living. But it occurred to me then that God had indeed provided me with much bounty, deserved or not.

After I spent some time in delighting my wife (while being careful to avoid her breasts) and we were both satiated, I felt myself drifting into sleep. I did not try to fight it; there was no place I would rather be than in our bed.

When I awoke from my nap, I opened my eyes to see Charlotte looking at me. "Ah, it is well that you are awake. We were a bit distracted earlier," she paused and smiled, tracing a finger down my chest to what was currently concealed below a light blanket. I reciprocated and soon again we were kissing and touching and I was just about to pull Charlotte atop me, any other thoughts having quite left my mind, when Charlotte pulled herself away.

"What is is, love, do you wish to nap more?" When I would have bridged the gap between us, she placed an outstretched hand upon my chest, holding me back.

"We cannot be this distracted again. William, you have already delayed too long. You know that you must go and consult with Lady Catherine immediately; she will wonder why you did not come right after receiving the post."

I felt myself wither, but still I thought he might still be revived if Charlotte would let us resume the most pleasant of activities.

"Immediately?" I asked.

"Well," she corrected, "after you have cleansed yourself. She will wish to hear this news."

I tried to reorient myself to thinking about the vicarage, about matters of business, and keep my mind from thinking about her body, her one breast that was not concealed beneath the blanket, the aureola dark, a target for our next child to find. I wished to feast there myself.

In order to resist distraction, I pulled the blanket over that most delectable of mounds. I took a moment to think about where we had left the discussion of Mr. Darcy's offer.

"And do I have your permission to propose that we relocate there?"

She sighed, "If you really think that is best, but I cannot imagine that Lady Catherine will take it well."

I was worried about this, but I felt more confidence than I would have a couple of years earlier. Being married, and to Charlotte especially, had been so good to me. I still adored Lady Catherine, but our relationship had shifted, with what I owed Lady Catherine lower than what I owed my wife, my daughter, and our parishioners. And so it was that half an hour later I was before Lady Catherine and watching as she read her nephew's letter. I saw her eyes glide down the page once and then twice. Still she remained quiet. I was waiting for her to finish and give me her initial thoughts before I proposed taking up the post in truth rather than just receiving the funds from it.

Then Lady Catherine straightened herself up and announced in her almost regular imperious voice (it had been missing for quite some time), "You were quite right to come to consult with me about this matter. You must accept, of course, but Darcy's idea that you should remain at Hunsford and not take up residence at the vicarage is preposterous. You should hire a curate for here and not there. Why I know all about that living and that vicarage is almost twice the size of your current abode!"

I could not believe what I was hearing. Although this comported with what I desired to do, I found myself arguing for the opposite. "But Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy wishes for me to remain here to minister to your needs."

"Pshaw, what a ridiculous notion when in two months time I shall not even be here!"

An icy fear gripped my heart. Was she ill? Dying? I had to know and so asked, "Where shall you be?"

"I do not rightly know, but I am soon to be evicted from my home and have no desire to retreat to the dower house when the next master of Rosings shall arrive. I have been weighing whether I wanted to live with the new Earl or with the Darcys."

I was confused. I had thought, rightly or wrongly that Miss de Bourgh would have left Rosings to her mother, but based on what she had said, it sounded as if Rosings had not been Anne's to give.

As if she could read my thoughts, she answered them. "A distant cousin of Mr. de Bourgh shall be arriving then to take possession of Rosings. If only Darcy had married Anne and they had children, this would never have happened. My Anne would certainly given him a child as quickly as Mrs. Collins fulfilled her duty to you, once I had properly instructed them both."

I did not challenge this assessment. Give Anne's frailty, I was far from certain that she would have been able to bear a child or survive a birth, and given how she had just died, even if she had successfully birthed that child, she would likely have still perished far too young and that child would most likely have grown up without a mother. Having been in that situation myself, I would not wish that on anyone. But I held my tongue and waited to see what Lady Catherine would say next.

"Why I am beginning to doubt that the former Miss Bennet will ever give Darcy a child. I suppose it is only right," here she sniffed, "as they would not listen to anything I said opposing the match and I most certainly was not going to give them the benefit of my wisdom when they would not so much as even speak to me. Although now, perhaps I could offer it . . . . But getting back to your situation, surely you see that you must accept this post."

I nodded, thinking it most fortuitous that my desires matched up so well with her own. "Yes, Lady Catherine. If that is what you think best, I will do my best to make it happen."

But Lady Catherine was not done yet. She added, in her most imperious tone (I could not help but rejoice to see her taking such an interest in life as she had been so dull and lifeless for a very long time after Miss de Bourgh died), "I shall arrange the whole matter for you and at the same time see whether I should go move in with the Darcys at Pemberley. I do not mind telling you that your family living there is certainly a mark in favor of such an arrangement. As Mrs. Collins's lying-in is not yet upon us, _now_ is the time for us all to travel to Derbyshire. We will take three carriages: one for me, Mrs. Jenkinson and Dawson; one for you, Mrs. Collins and dear Miss Catherine Collins;"-she always called our daughter Catherine, it had certainly been right to name her for my most kind and devoted patroness-"and another for the luggage. I shall write to Darcy today and we shall depart on the morrow as of course he will host us. Go tell Mrs. Collins my decision and send her to call upon me so that I can instruct her as to exactly what she shall pack for the journey and how it may best be arranged. There is so very much to do! Well why are you standing around gawking? Get on with it, Mr. Collins."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Mr. Darcy's POV**

It was a cold Thursday in autumn when we were in Pemberley's library, my darling Elizabeth nestled at my side on an aptly named loveseat, each of us reading books, in front of a blazing fire when the express arrived and turned everything topsy-turvy. As usual, we had been savoring both our reading and being close to one another. I had noticed a decline in how quickly I could read through a book with Elizabeth beside me, as frequently we took little breaks. I might hold my place in a book while nuzzling her neck; she might place her hand upon my thigh and stroke and squeeze it through the fabric of my breeches. However, we never did anything too inappropriate in there; Georgiana or a servant might come in at any moment. It was enjoyable to let the frisson build until we were alone in our chambers. Since learning the secrets that could lead to her bliss, I had quickly become accustomed to delighting my wife as often as possible.

Before my first disastrous proposal, the image of us sitting in my library near the fireplace, was what spurned me on to propose in the first place. I often imagined Miss Elizabeth (although in my fancy she was already Mrs. Darcy) there beside me, both of us feeling warm and lethargic in the well heated room. I would smell the aromatic scent of burning birch logs mixed with the slightly stale odor of old books and to this would be added the fragrance of her. Her scent, which I had caught a light waft of at Netherfield when she strode arm in arm with Miss Bingley, and then again smelled more strongly at the Netherfield Ball during our dance, was not one that I could easily identify. It was more difficult to imagine the conversation we would have, but I knew it would be delightful, arch and teasing, with a cleverness that would leave me turning it over in my head long after it was concluded (as had been the case with much of her conversation at Netherfield when her sister was ill).

After my hope was crushed, my imagining of her in my library was still tinged with her half-forgotten scent, but now she looked angry as she had when she accused me of insulting her with my proposal and ruining the happiness of her most beloved sister. I tried to ignore her biting words, tried to recreate her as a placid creature who was sorry for rejecting me, but it never worked. I also tried to remove her from that image, to place another woman in her stead, but still I would faintly smell her. I could not quite create that scent in my head while I was fully awake, but still sometimes I awoke with her singing in my ear and the smell lingering in my mind. It was maddening, to have that remembrance, although I did my best to banish it as then it brought melancholy rather than delight.

When I escorted Georgiana to buy fancy scented soaps, I took a whiff of them, hoping to find that scent that belonged to Miss Elizabeth, but gave up soon enough. I determined that such a scent was not for sale anywhere. I reasoned that it was likely a floral infused soap her family created in their still room, but did not remember Miss Bennet having the exact same smell. Perhaps they both used the same soap, but Miss Elizabeth also had a little whiff of the meadows through which she roamed, a bit of cigar smoke from her spending time with her father, and added to this was something else, a lighter natural bouquet which must belong to her alone.

Later, when I saw Miss Elizabeth at Pemberley, the imagined scene became even more vivid. I added in the exact shade of her eyes as seen in the light of day under a blue sky crossing my lawn as our eyes met (a coffee color with flecks of green), the blush of her cheeks and the perfect peach tones of her lips. Later I added in her look of surprise, of wonder even, when I told her I wished to introduce her to my sister and the sound of her voice saying, "Hello, Mr. Darcy" (though I stripped it down to just "Darcy" being repeated over and over with the lilt in her voice skimming over me) when my sister and I came to wait upon her.

And then, when I came back to Netherfield with Bingley and saw Miss Elizabeth at Longbourn that first time, I carefully observed her and that evening added new details: the glow of her face and smile of delight. But was it for me, or because I was bringing Bingley to Miss Bennet? Still, the hope I had made the ensuing image pleasant. I began to add in those details to make the still scene come alive, still I could not imagine her words.

Still later, when we were engaged, I continued to paint that scene, I imagined her wearing a wine colored dress, and brilliant hoop rings on her finger that I would commission for her. I might feel her arm against mine, as she turned a page in her book. She would smile with delight and say, "Oh, Darcy," when I placed a ruby necklace that had been my mother's around her neck, lightly stroking her skin with my fingers. But I did not let this fancy go any farther than that.

Thinking about her, sitting on that loveseat after we were married always made me feel content while I waited for our wedding day. Of course I imagined plenty of other things when I had done no more than hold her hand and gently kissed her lips only three times: once to seal our engagement, once when Mrs. Bennet sent us to walk out to Oakham Mount (to keep us out of Bingley's way in spending time with Miss Bennet), and once when Mrs. Bennet quit the room for a few minutes to consult with her cook about the menu for the next week.

Imagining those other things was not a good idea while I was visiting my betrothed at Longbourn or trying to occupy the rest of my waking hours at Netherfield. I needed to guard myself, to control myself, but it was difficult as my mind inevitable strayed to when we were married and would physically bind ourselves to each other. I was seldom alone and given the tight breeches that everyone of fashion wore, any evidence of my thoughts would be on display for all to see.

Of course I had previously developed techniques to distract myself from inappropriate thoughts about women. There was conjugating verbs in Latin, calculating geometry, trying to trace the origin of every object in the room. However, none of these were particularly effective when Miss Elizabeth was right before me.

So instead I happened upon calling upon an unpleasant memory to cool my ardor. It was of Lady Catherine berating me when I was a young boy and brought a grass snake I found near the pond inside to show Anne. I had meant no harm, just wanted to share the outside world with Anne as she was generally confined to Rosings proper after an illness had permanently weakened her, a blanket pulled tightly around her when she was allowed out of bed. The snake was a lovely dark green and Anne had seemed pleased when I held it before her. I had not expected Lady Catherine's reaction.

I was frequently called upon to employ this image when visiting Miss Elizabeth, but only had to have it half before me for it to be effective. However, I remember one particular occasion when Miss Elizabeth was wearing a new gown (or perhaps one that I had not seen her in before), which was just a bit tighter and lower than her other gowns, when I had to bring that image to the forefront of my mind, to hear Lady Catherine yell, "I am most seriously displeased that you brought that _creature_ in here. How dare you!"

I must have frowned in my concentration upon said image as Miss Elizabeth, who was sitting next to me on a chair turned toward my chair and leaned closer to me to whisper, "Is everything all right, Fitzwilliam?" (She did not call me Darcy as I had imagined she would, but I liked my cumbersome given name as said by her lips, her voice, her breath, the way it molded to every sound. She said it differently than the Fitzwilliam of Colonel Fitzwilliam.)

"Yes, quite." I said (or at least I think I said that through the haze imposed by that soft hot breeze that accompanied her words, her closeness). I struggled to maintain the distracting memory I had carefully tended, even as it quickly dissolved, leaving me free to imagine all sorts of other things: what it would be like to feel her lips against my ear, as her bosom pressed against my side, what it would be like to turn toward her and capture her lips in mine, to pull her from her chair to sit on top of me; to feel her softness, the round bottom I could only hope she had (concealed as her posterior always was by the skirt of her gown) against my sugar stick even through all the layers.

I told myself "stop" then, tried to reassemble the memory in my mind, the slightly stale smell of Rosings, the glop of spittle that had flung from Lady Catherine during one of her pronouncements, but it was useless, the scolding subsumed beneath what seemed to play most naturally before my mind. I imagined being alone with Miss Elizabeth (we were almost alone now, save for Miss Mary playing the pianoforte, her jangling not providing the distraction it once had), feeling Miss Elizabeth's curious hand caressing me through my breaches, making me harden and lengthen.

I heard my voice in my imagining asking her, "Would you like to see it?" She nodded shyly in response. In the fantasy, I began to unbutton my fall, even as in reality I forced my hands to clasp firmly together in my lap, concealing the physical evidence of my thoughts, and was silent.

I tried to concentrate harder, to bring Lady Catherine's scolding to the forefront. I knew I needed to do something to quell the stirring in my breaches and so tried to grasp hold of any distraction. Juxtaposed against this fantasy which I knew was highly inappropriate, I painstakingly recreated Lady Catherine yelling at me. I saw her gesticulating hands, her tight lips as she paused, her towering over me, the faint crying of Cousin Anne in the background (not I thought over the snake which she had leaned toward a hand extended in preparation for feeling its skin, but over the scolding I was receiving) as a footman approached to take the snake away.

"What are you doing with that creature?" Lady Catherine pointed at me. I looked down to see that past event and the current fantasy combined. What was in my hand? The snake? My pego?

"It does not belong here," she yelled. I wondered, in Rosings? In Longbourn?, "but outside," inside? in your breaches?

"It is a dirty and disgusting thing," Lady Catherine yelled, but then it was not Lady Catherine but Miss Elizabeth, her face scrunched up, looking appalled. I looked down to see the snake in my hand, but it was not the snake, with its yellow banded neck, but my stiffened rod, the tip emerging. I hoped my fiancee would never have cause to think so poorly of the instrument which would be needed to consummate our marriage and hopefully soon make her large with child.

"Fitzwilliam?" I roused to see Miss Elizabeth looking over at me, concerned, confused. As I snapped back firmly to the present, I felt myself blush. I glanced down, trying to determine whether evidence of my failure to control my thoughts was visible to her. As far as I could see, my hands were amply concealing me, but I could feel the pressure of them holding tight, see the whitened knuckles, the reddened fingertips.

"It is hard," I told her, not referring to my person, though he was hard, too. Then realizing what I had said, I blushed at my unplanned double entendre. I soldiered on, struggling to behave myself, adding, "to be so close to you, to want what comes with marriage but to know that two weeks still remain and I must maintain a suitable distance. It is difficult to school my thoughts."

She placed a hand on top my own in a gesture I felt was meant to be compassionate. However, I felt my breath quicken from even that innocent touch, until I forced myself to hold my breath, willing myself to calm. Neither of us were wearing gloves and though I remained still, I felt an almost searing of desire flow through me from feeling the slight pressure of her hand. She squeezed my hands for a moment and then removed her hand. I forced myself to breathe.

"I feel that way myself." She told me, but then as she elaborated it was clear that her thoughts were quite different from my own. "I wish to savor this time, but I also want it to be over as well. I should be enjoying the time I still have with Jane, but all Jane talks about is Mr. Bingley. I wonder if I am so tiresome; I try not to be, but your name is frequently on my lips and even more frequently in my unvoiced thoughts. Each time you have to leave Longbourn and return to Netherfield, I wish we did not have to be parted and cannot but help longing for the day when we are nevermore apart." She gave a little smile and shrug before adding, "not that we will not spend time apart, of course we will, I am not so naive as to think we will not both have our duties, but even when we are apart then, we shall belong to the other."

I felt she was holding something back from me. Then I considered how long it might be until she saw her family again after we married. I wondered if I should bring the matter up. I had no desire to invite her family to Pemberley (even the mere thought of Mrs. Bennet's loud voice booming through my halls was horrifying), but I would do so if it would make her happy. Fortunately thinking about this helped to calm me quite well. I offered something less instead, "We shall be sure to invite the Bingleys to visit in the next year."

She gave me a slightly odd look and then I realized what the problem was. "I mean Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. I know you are not fond of Miss Bingley. Perhaps we can arrange for Mr. Bingley to make sure Miss Bingley is hosted by the Hursts." She squeezed my hand again. This time I thought about Miss Bingley and my improper thoughts quickly fled. Miss Bingley was a comely woman, but she had not an original thought in her head and I found her rather dull and petty.

That night when I was in my chambers at Netherfield, all my amorous thoughts flooded back to me and I had to take myself in hand or I would never have slept. But when the morning broke I resolved I would need to decide upon an even less appealing image to help me maintain appropriate decorum when before Miss Elizabeth. I thought about Lady Catherine and tried to conceive of a conversation with her that might distract me further. Perhaps I might imagine her droning on and on about the cost of her chimney piece made of Italian marble (though of course it was very gauche for her to mention the cost to me), or her endless efforts to match me to Anne, or the way she had berated Miss Elizabeth and then complained to me about her stubbornness when she came to see me in London. No, that last image would never do as they I would be imagining Miss Elizabeth putting my aunt in her place with a slightly saucy tone and soon enough I would be excited all over again, imaging her pertness directed at me.

Thinking about Lady Catherine did help, though, as it made me think of Mr. Collins and his endless praising of of her at the dinners we shared. Now that was an image that was sure to be as effective as being splashed with snow-melt water. I stitched together that image with his impertinence of introducing himself to me at the ball, the way he had fumbled his first dance with Miss Elizabeth, moving wrongly, and my astonishment in later learning he had won the hand of Miss Elizabeth's pleasant if plain friend. I imagined seeing him red-faced and perspiring when Lady Catherine summoned him, his eyes darting this way and that as he awaited being announced to her. This image was quite effective at settling me down over the two weeks remaining before I was to be wed.

The evening before my wedding, I was all anticipation and nerves, while Bingley merely smiled even more than was his usual wont. The food did not properly hold either of our attentions, though as always Mr. Hurst diligently tucked into his dinner, taking extra pleasure in the fact that a ragout from the game birds we had shot, was featured. The highly spiced food was not to my preference while my stomach was nervous. I would have preferred a side of roast beef.

Miss Bingley seemed troubled that I was not attending properly to the food before me. She asked, "Is not everything to your liking this evening?"

I made a noncommittal sound, hoping she would let me be, but unfortunately she sprung up and invaded the kitchen. I heard her berating the unfortunate cook about her substandard fare this evening, telling her, "What is this swill you served this evening? Why Mr. Darcy has hardly eaten two bites. Something must be terribly amiss!"

I could not hear the cook's reply but when Miss Bingley returned she turned to Bingley and told him, "It seems you will need to find another cook. Surely this would be a good opportunity for us to hire a French cook. Of course," she sniffed, "I doubt that any worthwhile French cook will want to come here."

Bingley replied, "I shall have to see if Mrs. Bennet can recommend a good cook for me and Mrs. Bingley." He smiled when he referred to Miss Bennet by what was soon to be her new name.

Caroline huffed and glared, but had the good grace to sit down and nibble at a bit of bread. After her tirade about the food, I suppose she did not think she should eat anymore. Hurst ignored the whole exchange and simply took up another helping of the ragout.

As soon as dinner was concluded, I excused myself before as politely as I could from the evening's entertainment. I lay awake for hours. I wanted so very much to sleep so that the morning would arrive more quickly, but there was nothing I could do to make sleep come. When I finally dosed off I had disquieting dreams in which Miss Elizabeth fled from our wedding. I was following her on foot and repeatedly I got just a glimpse of her before she vanished again. I never seemed to make any progress in catching her. Later, the dream shifted and I found her on Oakham Mount. She held a large tree limb (in the dream I was amazed that she was strong enough to hold it) in a menacing manner, crouching a little. "Stay back, Mr. Darcy!" she told me. "You must stay away from me. I will not marry you!"

When I asked her what was amiss, Miss Elizabeth declared, "Now that I know what takes place between a man and his wife, my mother was very thorough in her explanation (how can you wish to do such a disgusting thing?), I have determined that I shall not marry. Jane may be willing to do such things, I shall certainly not!"

I remember pleading with her, telling her, "I will treat you well. I am no brute. You shall have nothing to fear from me."

I must have spoken at least some of these things aloud as the next thing that I remember, my valet was shaking me awake. When he saw that I was roused, he told me, "All is well. It is very early yet. Try to get some more sleep."

I thanked him, but sleep seemed impossible after that. Eventually, though, I slept a bit more, and awoke later by two hours than was my usual wont to my valet grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. He acted rightly as it was time to be getting ready and I had much to do, or rather he did. As I waited through all the things that my man did, I reassured myself that all would be well, but I was not entirely reassured until I saw Miss Elizabeth at the church standing before me. I noticed that her skirts were slightly muddy, but rather than coming to tend her sister, she had come to marry me!

Our wedding went off as these things normally do, but I cannot say I heard many of the words, save for those that we exchanged. Although we were beside each other, I kept turning to look at her, memorizing her lips, the soft glow on her face, the way the small silk flowers (it was the wrong season for fresh flowers) were tucked into her curls. The ceremony both took too long and was over too quickly. But I felt a deep burst of joy when we held hands at the end and I escorted her out of the church on my arm as my wife.

I was all too eager to be alone with my wife during the brief drive in the carriage to Longbourn. Although I contented myself with only uncovering our hands, I must admit that I wished to rid her of all of her clothing, to see that which I had never seen, and which I now had a right to see. As we only had a few minutes, I settled for just kissing her rather soundly and eagerly while my hands roamed a bit freely. She returned my kiss with no hesitation and while she did not touch me as much as I touched her, I was amazed at how arousing it was to simply have her fingers tangled in my hair, her palm resting again my neck. Her mouth was sweet and tasted of tea and mint; the flavors merged with her unique scent, which was so much stronger now (though still very pleasant). Never before had we been in such close proximity. All too soon, however, we arrived at Longbourn.

During our wedding breakfast, I had all too little time with Elizabeth, my Elizabeth, my bride, my wife. I found my eyes being drawn to her as she talked with many well wishers, including Mrs. Collins. I wondered how I could have ever thought Elizabeth was anything but the loveliest of women. I was mostly silent, but did my best to nod pleasantly at people, to say a kind word or two. I do not think that I ate even a bite of food, but Mr. Hurst had my share and then some. Mrs. Bennet does set a fine table.

Finally it was time to leave. In the carriage on our way to my London home, I drew the curtains closed. I told myself I was doing it to help keep her warm, but I knew that I wished to have privacy with my wife. All I wanted to do was sweep Elizabeth into my arms and do all that had been forbidden before. However, keeping in mind my dreams, I did not want to do anything that might scare her from the marriage bed. Instead, I decided that I needed to content myself with trying to arouse a passion in her, but still keep her presentable for when we should arrive. Yet again, I was intoxicated by her scent. Neither of us hesitated in returning to kiss each other as we had before, as if the wedding breakfast had not interrupted us at all. Now her mouth tasted of blackberry jam.

My hands began a much longed-for exploration of more of her person while I continued to kiss her lips. She was more diffident than I, but her hands did stroke down my chest under my coat. I tried to restraint myself to touching only her uncovered skin and skimming lightly over her dress.

Frequently, I had to pause in these activities. I did this not by thinking of Lady Catherine, Mr. Collins or Miss Bingley. Instead I called upon my imagining of when, sometime soon, when we would sit in my library at Pemberley in fact and not fantasy. I arranged the scene in my head, where an unstairs maid would place new candles at the direction of Mrs. Reynolds, which books we would each have in our hands. I imagined us diligently reading for a while, almost ignoring each other as we had in Netherfield's library, until I placed a marker in her book and took it away, telling her, "My darling wife, it is time for bed." I would then drop a kiss on the back of her hand, sweep a curl behind her ear and then help her up with my offered hand. She would willingly go with me, a secret smile on her lips that was just for me.

When we were perhaps a few minutes from my London home (I knew where we were from the turns we had taken), I put an end to all our delightful activities. Regretfully I told her, "We are almost there."

I assisted her by pulling her stockings back on and retying the ribbon near her knees, and in pulling on her gloves. It seemed so very wrong to be helping her put on clothing but I knew it must be done. Although I had touched nothing further up beneath her skirt but her knees, I very much desired to follow her legs up to the juncture at her thighs, but that would have to wait.

I resented having to introduce her to the staff, to having the fill the remaining hours until we could retire to our chambers. Every bit of conversation I uttered felt forced and awkward. I wondered if she felt the same. She was quieter than usual, perhaps reflecting on what was to come, or perhaps just taking in that this new place was now her home as well.

But finally, the time came when Elizabeth and I were alone in our nightclothes. Although she was still covered up, I knew there was only the one layer between her and her skin.

I did my best to restrain myself that night. I knew I needed to go slow, to make her feel good, even though I wanted nothing so much as to give into what I had long desired, what was now allowed. But it was good to kiss and touch her, first through her nightclothes and then skin to skin (it was not long until I drew her nightgown off and she reciprocated by freeing me of my nightshirt). When I was naked before her, I saw no fear. I delighted in learning what her skin felt like, tasted like, in seeing every part of her as illuminated by candlelight, her heavy breasts, her rounded buttocks, her trim legs, the curls between her legs and fuzz under her arms.

Elizabeth was not shy about running her hands along my back and over my chest and waist, but hesitated in going below that point. I felt it was just as well as I hardly wished to have my eagerness increased.

Still, when I finally touched the wetness of her with my fingers, I almost embarrassed myself like a callow youth who awakens having spilled on his sheets. I found myself begging her to let me have her. And oh how sweet were those four little words, "I need you, too."

I could not wait any longer then, and I felt all the ignominy of knowing that it would be over almost before it began, but how could I be expected to restrain myself further after the many months when I had battled against seeking her hand, and the many months between her rejection and when I could ask again, and those week when awaiting our wedding day and all the touching and kissing in the carriage?

It was a very good beginning and I was delighted to see in the days that followed that my wife was eager for my touch, never sought to turn me away, save for during her monthlies. We passed several lovely weeks in London, seldom going anywhere, content to simply be with one another.

We returned to Pemberley in time for me to manage the spring plantings and soon (other than our chambers), the library became her favorite haunt. On the outside it might seem as if my fantasy had come true to have her tucked beside me on the loveseat, but the reality was more glorious than what I imagined.

I felt our life together lacked for nothing, save for a heir. But I was not worried about it yet. My mother had been married some years before I was born and there was a very long interval between my birth and that of Georgiana's. While I had hoped that in marrying one of five sisters that we might have half a dozen children (I had always longed for the company of brothers just as I think that Georgiana had always wished she had sisters), one or two would do.

Life settled into a very pleasant routine. There was much to do, but we always had some time together during the day, often in the library as I had foreseen, but we were alone less than I imagined as Georgiana embraced Elizabeth as her sister and they were frequently in company together. I did not mind too much, my sister had become much more free in smiling and laughing, and had begun to tease me. Also, every night at bedtime we were together. I enjoyed just holding her and being able to talk with her, but being a vigorous man I also took my pleasure of her almost every night. She seemed to enjoy the activity, which is all I had hoped for, having heard that many women only tolerated their husband's passions rather than embracing them (I rather suspected that Miss Bingley would be of that sort).

But then one night my wife cried afterwards. I was beside myself, wondering what I had done wrong. She reassured me, but in her reassuring I learned that I had been failing her. I was perplexed as no books that I had read had ever hinted that my wife might be capable of enjoying the act as much as me. Courtesans might act as if they greatly desired all, but that was only to part men from their money.

Elizabeth was oh so brave the next night when she told me, "Fitz, do you think you could kiss me, there?" She blushed then and then I understood where "there" was. This was not something that I had ever considered, though when I reflected upon the matter I knew I should have, after all if I liked her mouth around my silent flute, why should she not like my mouth on her?

If I had thought that her scent was intoxicating and could not get enough from drinking from her lips, well this was nothing compared to the sweet nectar she had there. The flavor of her desire from her honey pot reminded me of her scent but intensified, sweeter. Any silliness I felt in engaging in such an act vanished when I heard her moan, but still it was not enough even when my face was drenched.

The next evening when I learned that Mr. Collins could satisfy his wife while I could not, well, it was simply not to be borne! I can be as stubborn and determined as Lady Catherine when the situation merits it, and this situation definitely merited it.

I resolved I would find a way to give Elizabeth what she wanted and was diligent to my task, using my tongue, my lips, my fingers. My jaw ached along with my knees and back when she finally quivered and moaned. I did not pause my ministrations, as I was not sure if that was it or not and if it was I was determined to draw out her pleasure as long as possible. She reassured me by declaring, "You did it!" and then, "You may rest."

I had never felt so accomplished in my life! It was better than learning to ride a horse, better than having a successful harvest, better even then the the brief moment of delight I would have felt if I had ever given into the desire to break Wickham's nose with my fist (before the remorse would set in, the guilt of harming he whom my father loved). And then, when exhausted I flopped on my back beside her while pulling her against me, still hearing her moaning and feeling her trembling, I was well satisfied. How wonderful it was that she had felt such passion and I had been the one to give it to her!

I believed that having given that to her, we would sleep. I tried to ignore the throbbing I felt in my loins, the desire to be joined with her once more. But minutes later when she had calmed, she surprised me by climbing on top of me and telling me, "Please, I want to be with you now."

That had not been the first time we had tried "riding St. George" but it was the first time she had initiated it. She slid against me, so slick and warm, but before she let me enter her, she brought my fingers to the spot of her delight. I rubbed and as I did, she adjusted her angle so that with no effort at all I slid inside her and I thrust up as she moved against me, her nipples dragging against my chest. Moments later I felt her rhythmically squeezing around me and her trembling. She shouted out, "Oh oh Fiiiitz!"

I chased my own delight for a few moments more, and then her body squeezed me a little harder and without my conscious volition, I came and came hard, pulsing within her, my tip feeling something within her moving against me.

She collapsed atop me, still trapping my softening pego within her in for a few moments before she gave a little sigh and slid off me and to one side. I held her for a long time and as we both drifted towards sleep, I murmured, "Lizzy, that was most glorious."

When I awoke the next morning, she was still sleeping. I was tempted to wake her by licking and touching her, to see if I could give a repeat performance of the previous night. I wanted to give her what no one else could and to hear her praise, to make sure this wonderful thing could happen again, but I restrained myself.

It was odd to think, I had Mr. and Mrs. Collins to thank for this. I wondered what I could do to benefit them as surely they deserved something. I was feeling particularly magnanimous while sated. I reviewed in my head my possessions and then I knew what I would do. A living had recently come open and it was mine to bestow. It was not the living that had been offered to George but a better one, one my father had told me I could someday give to George Wickham, should he prove worthy (as much as my father had loved him, he had realized that George had flaws, but had hoped he would prove himself more steady as aged).

I should have known better, though, than to give Mr. Collins a living. In the days, weeks and months that followed, I considered very carefully whether I really wished to grant him the living. I resolved that I would follow through and do so, but still I hesitated. I wanted to word my gift so that he and his family might benefit but I should be left alone. Elizabeth had reviewed several drafts of my letter and offered suggestions for changes as we wanted to be very certain that Mr. Collins would not think he had the option to take up residence there. It had to be done as the living had been vacant for half a year and the curate had accepted another post elsewhere when it became clear to him I had no intention of considering him for the post. In truth he was far superior to Mr. Collins in the sermons he gave, but I had seen him leer once at Georgiana and once was enough to put him in my black books.

However, apparently the very careful wording of my gifting was for naught, or at least that was how it seemed when I read the express from Lady Catherine. Lately we had mended fences through correspondence, but when I read her express I wished that we had not. It simply read:

_Dear Darcy,_

_You may expect me on Friday afternoon, with the Collinses. I expect you to have rooms prepared for all of us. The matter of this living must be sorted out along with my future living arrangements. __It is not right for Mr. Collins to remain at the Hunsford parsonage when your living is far superior and I have no desire to remove myself to the dower house at Rosings.  
_

_I look forward to being in the company of you and Georgiana once again._

_Sincerely,_

_Catherine de Bourgh_

I felt angry, so angry then. I felt I had been tricked somehow. As I read I pulled a little away from Elizabeth and my hands began to crumple up the letter without any conscious volition on my part.

"What is it, Fitz?" I flinched a little as she touched my shoulder but then forced myself to relax into her touch, to the comfort she offered without even knowing why I was upset. Not trusting myself to not use foul language befitting being heard by a lady, I thrust the missive at her.

She took it from me and read. "Oh dear. I did not expect that! And they will arrive tomorrow! I must go and speak to Mrs. Reynolds about the needed arrangements." She started to stand up, but I grabbed her hand and halted her exit.

"Do not leave just now," I entreated her, "there is yet time."

She sat back down and hugged me from the side. "How are you feeling about all of this?"

"Troubled, very troubled indeed. I should have known better than to give Mr. Collins anything. It is very grasping on his part to try to seize more than I have offered."

"I do not think it is at his own instigation that they come. Mr. Collins would never deign to invite himself to our home. No, I believe the force behind this all to be your aunt. She is the one who penned the letter, after all. I believe Lady Catherine has taken it in her own head to have this triumph over you."

I told her, "I do not want to let them into my house, well Mrs. Collins I would welcome, but not her husband or my aunt. How dare Lady Catherine say she looks forward to being in the company of me and Georgiana and make no mention of you! By this she means to say that she will take no pleasure in being in your company! I will not accept such an insult to my wife."

"While admit that her choice of words leaves much to be desired, you should not thereby conclude that she meant to insult me. You cannot expect her to embrace me without more time. When she arrives, you will be able to judge more aptly what her intentions are."

"You are too good," I told her. "If she dares to say one insult against her, I shall throw her out forthwith without any hesitation." I growled, still fuming.

"No, you will not," she told me evenly. "You would never be so disrespectful to your aunt who still mourns her daughter. She needs family, especially at a time like this."

"I suppose," I allowed.


	10. Chapter 10

**I am deeply troubled by the latest round of the actions of my daughter, who is a "Lydia" and determined to stay a Lydia even after repeatedly being warned about her "Wickham" and all the men like him out there who care about what she can do for them, rather than about her. We've had to make a hard decision regarding her, but I am at peace about it and using writing as therapy.**

**Be prepared for Wickham creepiness.**

**Chapter 10: Miss Georgiana Darcy's PO****V: For Want of a Father's Love**

Father never touched me, either with affection or to punish me, not once that I can recall. He never looked me in the eyes either if he could help it. If we chanced to pass in a hall his eyes looked through me. Even if I greeted him, "Good Morning, Papa," the most response I might get was a small nod. Any questions I asked went unanswered.

The gifts I made and held out to Father were never taken, not even a portrait I had attempted of him and mother, combining two separate portraits. It was undoubtedly a crude effort, but it was the best of several attempts with crayons. Fitz liked my drawings and hung them in his chambers. Later when father was gone, he hung them in our gallery.

When I was about ten I bluntly asked Fitz, "Why does Father hate me?"

Fitz was troubled by my question; it was obvious to me even at my young age for although I had stopped, he paced back and forth (clomp, clomp, clomp in his riding boots over the hard compacted trail) and ran his hand through his hair several times before stopping before me. We were walking back to the house from the stables. Fitz was helping teach me to ride and I was thrilled to be wearing my first riding habit (a gift from my uncle the Earl and his wife) and better yet to finally have my brother home from university spending this time with me.

"Father does not hate you, but he hates that Mother died. Father loved Mother very much. Although it was a brilliant match for both of them it was a love match as well. Your birth was a very difficult one for her and she expired soon after. Although you were not at fault for what happened, for Father it is all tied up with her death and it does not help that you greatly favor her, not just in appearance but mannerisms, even the sound of your voice. Seeing you is a reminder of all he lost. I had hoped that someday that would change, but it seems unlikely now."

"You mean he is going to die." Father had been ill for sometime when we had this discussion. I had previously asked to visit his sickroom but had been refused.

"I think it likely. No treatment that has been offered seems to change his decline."

Fitz was not like Father. He did touch me occasionally in an affectionate but restrained manner. When I was a young child he would pat me on the head or hold my hand, but he was usually busy and we seldom saw one another for long.

George Wickham, who was almost a second brother to me, was more free in touching me. Rather than just touching my head, hand or shoulder, he might stroke my back or touch my neck. He would help tie my sash or help with my hair, while standing only a few inches from me.

From as early as I can remember George often brought me little gifts, a shooting marble, ribbon, a bookmark he had made from parchment artfully drawn on with my name penned and surrounded by flowers. He always said, "My little girl must have presents." George even hugged me on occasion. I welcomed his show of attention, more so than I believe I would have had Father not been so distant. But when he visited me in those days it was all properly supervised, first by my nurse and then by my governess. The latter adored George as he was always complementing her.

The first time I remember George holding me, was when he chanced upon me crying when I was about seven. He asked me what was the matter and I had gotten a splinter in my finger from a banister. He confirmed that it was rough and needed to be sanded before ushering me into an adjoining sitting room that was seldom used. He bid me sit next to him on the sofa and then grabbed me and lifted me onto his lap. He said, "Hold still so I can see. You must be very still so that I do not hurt you in pulling it out."

I remember relaxing into George and his firm grip around me. He got the splinter out but did not immediately let me go. He told me, "I know your father does not treat you as a father should, know that I am always your friend should you have need of anything. I love you, little girl." Then he placed a kiss on my forehead.

Once, on my governess's half day, I was wandering the gardens when I came upon him. I was no more than nine at the time. He scolded me, "My little girl should not be about by herself, but your George is now here and I will walk with you. When we walked through the gardens we were most proper, but then he suggested we walk through the woods for a bit.

I told him, "I am not allowed to go in the woods without my governess."

George told me, "You could go with your brother and I am like your brother."

"You are not like my brother," I told him.

He gave me sad puppy dog eyes and pouted until I told him, "You are the prince and I am the princess."

When we first entered the woods, we still had space between us, but then when we were a few paces in, he gallantly bowed and asked, "May I hold you hand, fair lady?" I giggled and held my hand out for him to grasp. He held my hand the entire time we walked.

When we came to a clearing, George suggested that we rest. He sat on a fallen log and said, "Let's sit for a bit and then we should be getting back."

I told him, "I am not tired. I want to play."

"Then play we shall." He seated me on his lap and said, "The fair princess must ride on her noble steed." Hebounced me, up and down, not near his knees but against his torso, lifting me by the thighs to make me go higher as he bounced me. As he bounced me, my skirts gradually rucked up, but were still covering me, but perhaps his fingers touched my bare thighs.

He told me, "You are riding a horse. When you are bigger you may ride a bigger horse." His lap felt different from my nurse's lap, which I had only a vague memory of sitting upon; it also felt different from when I had sat on him before. I felt something brushing against my rear (which was still covered by my skirts), but I did not know what it was, but that it must have been a part of him. He lifted me off him with a groan and told me, "We should go back as you are still such a little girl. Let me see if you remember the way back."

I walked in front of him. When we had already emerged from the woods he told me, "We should not be alone. You are still so small and I have no wish to hurt you."

I did not understand what he meant by that.

After this walk in the woods, although there were two weeks left until he and Fitz left again, I did not see save from afar until the following summer. When I saw him next, I told him, "I missed you George. Where have you been?"

He avoided my eyes. He told me, "I am getting too old for childish games."

"I still need you, George," I told him and hugged him. After a moment's hesitation, he embraced me back. He was still so much taller than me (though shorter than Fitz) that my head only reached his chest.

I do not recall Fitz ever giving me a hug when I was a young girl. But I supposed no one hugged him either, save perhaps Mama before I was born.

When father died, Fitz did hug me then, but after that initial mourning period he seemed more closed off. And soon I seldom saw him after Mr. Wickham senior died; he was so busy, always with estate matters. Of course by then I was not seeing anything of George, either, for after his father's death he went away.

Shortly thereafter I was sent away to school. I am sure Fitz meant it as a kindness to me, but I could not relate to the other girls. They knew nothing of death or loneliness. Too, I started later than the other girls, halfway through the term and there was no room for me in the established friendships. My cousins, the Earl's daughters, who were meant to be my friends liked to make fun of me for having no accomplishments. I suppose it was yet another sign of Father's neglect that my governess had taught me little but reading, writing, figuring, how to embroider and the basics of the piano forte. At school we received much instruction to become accomplished, but I took to none of it but painting and playing the piano forte.

When my brother heard of my skill with the piano forte, he arranged for me to have my own instrument and I played for hours to stave off my loneliness. I could lose myself in the music. But the other girls became jealous that I had my own instrument and the praise I received. Now instead of just ignoring me, they made a game of pinching me from behind. I never turned quickly enough to locate the culprits, but they all laughed when I tried. None was kind, not one. I was obliged to always wear long-sleeved gowns to cover up the bruises to my arms, and sit and stand with my back close to a wall to avoid my tormentors.

When Fitz noticed my bruises on a visit home, he demanded an explanation. As soon as he understood, he acted immediately by withdrawing me from school and finding me a companion instead. I liked Mrs. Younge and was excited to go to Ramsgate. When we met George upon the seashore, he exclaimed, "Oh Miss Darcy, I am so very pleased to see my sweet little girl!" Immediately he made as if to hug me right there in the street. I held out a hand to forestall him. I felt quite grown up when I said, "You may almost be my brother but we cannot be so familiar with each other." I explained to Mrs. Younge that George was a family friend and she invited him to join us for tea.

Mrs. Younge did not supervise me then or on his subsequent calls as she should have. She was forever thinking of things she needed to do, but I thought she merely meant to not intrude rather than suspected at that time that she was a partner in George's plans. When she was absent, George was familiar with me, with a silly pat to my head soon being replaced his hand resting against the side of my face. When he did this, he said, "Oh how my sweet little girl has grown; look how pretty you are." It felt good to be touched in such a way, but I knew it was most improper. But still, I liked having him pay attention to me.

On perhaps our third visit as we sat on a sofa together, he said, "I have always loved you, Georgiana. But what I once thought was the love of a man for a sister, is now the love that two should share in marriage. I wish to be forever with my beautiful little girl. But as Fitz and I have had a misunderstanding and you are still so very young, it would be better to marry first and present this as a fait accompli. Then no one could separate us."

I hesitated and he scooped me up, seated me on his lap and pulled me close. He pressed kisses to my lips as his hands roamed freely. I tried to pull away, scared at how quickly things were progressing. He let our lips part, but kept me in his embrace. He told me, "Do you see what you do to me? Can you tell how much I love you? We have been alone so often that you must want to marry me, too. No girl who wanted anything else would be alone with a man so much, unless of course she just wanted a good tumble, but you are a good girl, aren't you? You believe in marriage."

Then he scooted me off his lap and bid me farewell. As he left he said, "I will return tomorrow for your answer. If you are confused, perhaps you should consult with your companion; after all she has many years of wisdom on you."

I did speak with Mrs. Younge. She seemed to think it was all so romantic and that I should elope at once before Mr. Wickham claimed me without the sanctity of marriage. "Do you not see, Miss Darcy, that in allowing him such liberties you are as good as engaged? I shall accompany you both to Scotland to make sure you are married at once."

Still I hesitated, "Should I not write to my brother first? It seems wrong to marry without his permission and blessing."

"Oh Miss Darcy, you are so blessed to have such a fiance. So handsome and so in love with you. You could do no better. Your brother will accept it I am sure."

The next morning I consented and agreed to elope the following day, but then later in the day Fitz came. I felt such relief when my brother arrived and confessed all. Fitz of course was convinced it was all about my dowry, but I knew that more than that, George had desire for me. I realized then that I was very fortunate that he had not taken my virtue. But still I found the whole matter very confusing.

When Fitz asked me, "Why did you consent to elope with him?" I shrugged and offered no explanation.

But in the years since that time, I have puzzled it out. It was not that I was afraid George would speak poorly of me if I refused, it was that I was afraid of losing (so soon after I had gained him back) the one person who always offered me physical affection and seemed to have an interest in me. Certainly how he did it was wrong, and I suspected had been wrong even when I was a small child, but he had not done something so horrible that I could not forgive him.

When we returned to Pemberley, Fitz found me a new companion. Fitz tried to make an effort to spend more time with me. But I felt it was not so much that he wanted to do so because he wanted to do so, but that he felt sorry for me. I had no interest in going to London with him.

Fitz wrote me from Hertfordshire and interspersed with his detailed descriptions, a certain name was mentioned several times, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He also wrote to me about her when he was visiting Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne. He wrote me about her:

_ Miss Elizabeth is afraid of no one; she is completely unaffected by Lady Catherine and her wealth and is more than willing to verbally spar with me. She is lively and jolly and teasing and intelligent. She plays and sings not to impress anyone but for the enjoyment of it. She is beguiling me. I am longing to have her always with me. What a fine thing it would be for both of us, should she marry me and be with us at Pemberley._

Although the months that followed his return from visiting Lady Catherine he was clearly feeling down, I truly understood what was wrong when I met Miss Elizabeth and came to understand how well we could be a family if only she would join us.

In the months since their marriage, I have gained the true affection of both a brother and a sister. Lizzy encourages me and draws Fitz out of his shell. I have no wish to leave the family I have always desired to come out and then to marry.

One Thursday when I went to visit my brother and sister in the library, I knocked and waited to hear my brother give me permission to enter. I had quickly learned this lesson as I did not wish to observe marital intimacies between them again. I had not seen much, but it was much more than I wanted to see. It was odd to see my brother's hand sweeping again my sister's side while they kissed. I knew that there was far more to the marital act than that, but I had no wish to see anything further. I expect one day when I marry, should I marry a man that I love, that I shall desire far more than this, but for now I find all things of that nature disquieting. I do not begrudge them their joy, but I wish to see as little of the physical manifestation of it as possible as it reminds me that I am tarnished by letting George take liberties.

Unusually, Fitz immediately responded, "Come in, Georgiana." He knows my knock of course.

Fitz told me, "It is well that you are here. We have news."

When I heard his words, immediately I wondered if they were going to tell me that Elizabeth was caught. I had longed for her to become with child. It is what every married woman wants, to gift her husband with a heir. And it is certainly my desire to be an aunt. I feel I would excel at this. Many times I have imagined holding a plump babe in my arms, wrapped tight in a blanket, or leading small children through the childhood games that my nurse, and then governess, and Fitz begrudgingly played with me. I never imagine my own future children; I feel still more child than woman myself, though I know there are girls of my age that have already married.

However, their faces were all wrong for such good news. Then I wondered if it could be that Mrs. Bennet had died (they had told me previously that she was ill).

Fortunately, they did not keep me in suspense for long. Elizabeth told me, in a manner in which cheer seemed forced, "Not just news, good news. Your brother had a letter from Lady Catherine which just arrived. She informed us that she and the Collins family will be arriving to stay at Pemberley tomorrow. We must show them every consideration. I find it not at all unusual that Lady Catherine should seek the comfort of family now that her formal mourning has concluded."

Although Elizabeth tried to present this visit as a good thing, and Fitz tried to smile as she told me, he is not skilled at acting happy when he is not. Oh those many months between when he visited Lady Catherine and Anne over Easter (he tried to get me to come too, but I declined, I do not enjoy Aunt Catherine ordering me around, though I feel that as a dutiful niece I should obey her) and when he introduced me to Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle when they stayed near Pemberley, it was evident that he was most miserable. Then there were a few days when we were in her company when his smile genuinely burst forth, until she left precipitously and he followed soon after. Then there were more months when he was miserable again, until finally he had a letter from Bingley asking him to come to London to meet him so that he could come to Netherfield with him. And then after Fitz returned to Pemberley a few weeks later a married man, well I have never seen him smile with genuine delight so many times. I would love Lizzy just for that, but I do love her company for its own sake.

I have not lacked companionship in my life, but is it true companionship when it is paid? I went from nurse to governess to teachers to companions. Mrs. Younge was more fun than Mrs. Annesley, but I do not think that she truly cared for me. If she had, she would not have encouraged my relationship with George Wickham.

Mrs. Annesley is kind and a good woman, but she is not someone I would pick as a friend or confidant. For one thing, she is too old, almost as old as Lady Catherine. Also, because money, room and board in involved, it is a business relationship. We do not have the easiness we might have if we were related by blood or marriage. There is a stiffness and formality.

Lizzy is not like Mrs. Annesley. Lizzy is fun, Lizzy loves to laugh, Lizzy loves to tease (most especially Fitz) but there is no malice in her. Lizzy is a true sister to me and brings out a more lighthearted side of Fitz that I had never seen before except perhaps in vague memories of before Father died (though I think even then he was weighed down by Mother's death and is probably naturally a reserved and private person).

When Lizzy excused herself to discuss arrangements with Mrs. Reynolds, rather than follow after her to learn yet one more aspect of being mistress to a large estate (Lizzy was trying to train me even as she still learned the finer aspects, telling me that I was likely to have such responsibility in the future and would be more confident to take it on the more I knew), I remained with my brother. I wanted to see what more I could learn about the visit.

"Are you well, Fitz?" I asked him.

I was determined to get him to admit how he was feeling. Fitz is often buttoned up about his feelings. He was an unsettled mess for many months after Lizzy rejected him, although he never talked about it or admitted anything was wrong; I suspected his melancholy involved a her but he would not even admit that. I am, after all, his little sister who he coddles and indulges, but thinks too delicate or young to understand the trials of this world. In being treated in this way my whole life, of course I never thought to question Wickham's sincerity.

It was Lizzy who laughingly admitted that she was the cause of his extended bad mood. She told me, "Your brother and I were right fools for many months. Imagine, based on him insulting me, I was predisposed to think badly of him and saved up grudges as another might save up shillings. I rejected him and then later when I came to know him better, learned that I in fact liked him very much. It was not long after that, that I thought I might even love him, but then it seemed too late. But your brother sought me out once again even after my sister behaved shamefully; he proved he was true; he proved he was devoted; he proved he would sacrifice his dignity, his time, his money, simply to rescue my wanton sister from her own poor choices. Once I knew what he had done, and that it was done for me and me alone, I could not help but love him."

My brother pondered for a while before saying diplomatically, "I am well enough but I cannot say that I am looking forward to her visit or hosting her guests. Lady Catherine has hinted that she may take up permanent residence with us here."

"Oh no!" I gasped, feeling a tightness in my chest. It was one thing to endure a visit, she was family after all and I knew what was due her by rank and seniority, but yet another thing to imagine her always before us. Would the playful lighthearted atmosphere of Pemberley since my brother's marriage evaporate under the weight of her advice and pronouncements? I imagined my brother and Elizabeth becoming stiff and cold, being well mannered rather than loving.

"And what may be worse, it seems that at Lady Catherine's instigation that Mr. Collins plans to take up permanent residence at the vicarage to minister to me (and apparently Lady Catherine as well)."

I had never met Mr. Collins, but the reports I had from my brother and sister were not encouraging. "But how can he do so? You offered him the living with the express condition that he not live here, did you not?"

"That is correct, but I hate to explicitly ban him from living there and I am sure that Lady Catherine will be most displeased should I do so."

"Better to risk her disapproval rather than endure him for many years."

"Yes, you are right of course." Then he smiled at me, and it was a true smile now, warm and transforming his whole visage. It was the kind of smile I have been used to seeing since he married Elizabeth. "Do you realize that before we had Elizabeth that you would have never dared to so freely offer me an opinion and unasked, too? Indeed you rarely offered me an opinion even when I requested one!"

"Perhaps I have grown up some. Perhaps also, Elizabeth makes me a bit impertinent."

"That is no bad thing," he replied. "You have my permission to be as impertinent to Lady Catherine should you wish to be, so long as you can also show her the respect due her by birth and our familial relationship."

"How can I balance this? I have no doubt that Lizzy could do so, but I am not so skilled."

"I think the key is to still be kind. I cannot imagine what a loss it was to her when Anne passed. I did not know my cousin well for all the time we spent in each other's company; especially the last several years we seldom spoke more than pleasantries. But I remember when we were young, before her father died, before her illness, she was a little something like you, shy and reserved but willing to caper and laugh with a little encouragement. She used to enjoy putting on little shows for her younger siblings with her marionettes and liked to play marbles and battledore and shuttlecock with me and Richard; Richard's older brother was of course not interested in our childish games. Perhaps that is why Lady Catherine comes, to see Anne in you."

The next day, when Lady Catherine and the Collinses arrived, things did not go as I had expected. When the carriages pulled up, we were immediately informed and went out to greet our guests. Fitz of course properly handed both Lady Catherine and Mrs. Collins down. I noticed that Lady Catherine was still dressed in mourning, her face almost blank. With her lack of expression, dull appearance and slow and weary movements, she seemed far older than I remembered.

But I was almost immediately distracted by the appearance of the Collinses. I did not expect to see that Mrs. Collins was obviously with child despite the generous cut of her blue gown attempting to hide that fact, or have any notion that Mr. Collins would come out with a child in his arms. I knew of course that they had a daughter, named Catherine after my aunt, but somehow it had not occurred to me that they would bring her with them on a visit, though afterwards I felt quite foolish for not thinking of it.

Miss Catherine was dressed in the white dress that all young children wore, and her petticoats were showing from her position in his arms. She was not the plump baby I dreamt of holding, nor a child old enough for most childhood games, but in seeing her lean into her father I concluded that Mr. Collins could not be all bad if his child was so trusting of him. It was well that I knew she was a girl and her name. I would have been embarrassed to call her "he" but such an error was common with a child of such an age as a boy would need to be much older to gain his skeleton suit.

I found my feet carrying me hither. While I greeted Mr. Collins and listened to his effusive response, my eyes were drawn to Miss Catherine. I addressed her more than him after the first exchange of pleasantries.

"Oh what a pretty child you are, Miss Catherine." She was perhaps not classically beautiful, but she was certainly more than pleasant to look at with her bright blue eyes and blonde hair, but her face was transformed when she beamed at me.

"There is no need for such formalities," he told me. "We call her Cathy; none but Lady Catherine calls her Miss Catherine."

I hardly expected it when Cathy reached for me. Certainly it must have been unusual as Mr. Collins seemed surprised, too. However, he allowed me to take her. I soon found out what that was about when her hand grabbed the lace along my neckline and she tried to pull it off my dress. Her grasping hand had the effect of exposing my bosom to Mr. Collins. I saw his face pink and he quickly averted his eyes, before I realized it was because of what he was seeing. I tried to detach her fingers, but her grip was surprisingly strong. Fortunately, Mrs. Collins saw my distress and assisted.

Lady Catherine then proclaimed, "Darcy, have someone escort Mrs. Collins to her quarters. Every care must be taken with a woman in her condition."

Mrs. Collins gently said, "I am well. I would prefer to settle Cathy in the nursery."

Lady Catherine did not argue with her, which surprised me a bit. She did declare to brother, "surely you have hired a nurse to tend to her child while she is here. Or should the Collinses take residence at the vicarage instead?"

"There is no staff at the vicarage and hardly any furniture, so it would be best for the Collinses to stay with us for their visit." He responded. "We do not have a nurse at the moment (I expected if you brought the young miss that you would bring your own) but I am sure we can find a woman among our staff that has tended small children before. Mrs. Reynolds, please see to it."

"I have some candidates in mind," Mrs. Reynolds responded. "Should I show our guests to their rooms?"

Lizzy said, "I will take Charlotte to the nursery; her room is close to it, but I would be much obliged if you would show Lady Catherine to her usual quarters."

Mr. Collins surprised me by declaring, "I shall go with my cousin and wife." That was unusual to be sure. It was my understanding that fathers seldom took much interest in their young children and certainly not their daughters. The nursery was to be mostly the domain of women. But I supposed that his holding of Cathy must not, as I had earlier supposed, been the result of wishing to relieve a burden from his wife in her delicate condition, but stemmed from a genuine affection for his daughter. Thus far, I had a more positive impression of Mr. Collins than I had been expecting. How could I not like a man who cared so deeply for his daughter?

Later, after they were settled, Elizabeth and I had tea with Lady Catherine while my brother entertained Mr. Collins. Elizabeth let me serve (she had been letting me do so more frequently as I would need to do so someday in my own household).

When she earlier informed me that this would be my task, Lizzy gave me a pinched smile which did not bring a crinkle around her eyes and said, "I do not know if Lady Catherine could hold back from criticizing me if I poured. It is not that I am afraid of her, I refuse to be intimidated by anyone, even the Prince Regent himself, but I would prefer to fade into the background at least at first and let you take center stage. You are her niece after all, and it is you and your brother that she wants to see. Although Lady Catherine said all the right things in her correspondence about wanting to maintain the family relationship and acknowledging that Fitz had the right to choose his own bride without her interference, I doubt she will ever forgive me for marrying him."

The Lady Catherine who had tea with us was altered. She listened quietly as we expressed our condolences. She said, "It feels odd to do something so ordinary as taking tea, when Anne can never take tea again. It feels wrong to do the ordinary."

Rather than dominating the conversation as she was wont to do, she spoke only two or three sentences at a time and,offered little advice. She told me, "Georgiana, how like your mother you are growing to be. Although my daughter was her namesake, you are more like Anne my sister than Anne was. But I can also see something of my Anne in you as well."

Later she asked, "Have you been faithful in practicing the piano forte?"

When I replied that I was, she responded not with an instruction to practice diligently but only said, "I am glad to hear it. I wish Anne could have learned to play. She did delight to hear her companion make music although it often put her to sleep."

As if Elizabeth was not in the room, Lady Catherine studied her intently, like someone looking at a painting, to judge the skill of the artist. After some moments of silence, she observed about her, "Mrs. Darcy is a pretty enough woman. That deep rose color suits her well. But she is very quiet, so altered from the young maid I knew for some weeks."

The way she said it, did not feel like criticism so much as regret. After some moments in which we did not respond, she added, "I hope living in high society has not crushed the life from her, and it is only that she is trying to be respectful of me. I hope you brother is happy in his choice; I see now that if Darcy had married my Anne, that it could have only ended in grief, though perhaps not to the level that it has afflicted me."

Later she added, finally addressing Elizabeth directly, "Do not act this way on my account. I resented you when I learned you were to marry Darcy, because you were everything that Anne could never be. I regret it." Then before we responded, Lady Catherine rose and excused herself, telling us, "I must rest."

I chanced to see Fitz before dinner. He asked me about Lady Catherine and told me about Mr. Collins. We both reacted to how much they were altered. Fitz told me,"Mr. Collins is the same man, and he is still verbose, but he somehow seems more sensible. I dare say that Mrs. Collins has had a salutatory effect on him. I can half imagine him taking on the post in truth."

I told him, "Lady Catherine was almost kind to Elizabeth. She was softer, more thoughtful. I think this visit may go well."


	11. Chapter 11

**Merry Christmas!**

**Chapter 11: Mr. Bennet's POV: I Never Thought I Could Have Too Much Solitude.**

Longbourn became much quieter when Lydia left with Mr. Wickham for the North and then Jane and my Lizzy married their beaus and departed. I was happy that my eldest daughters had found worthy men, although I worried that the Bingleys would be robbed blind by their servants not through theft but through their own generosity and that the Darcys might have arguments so intense that they had to absent themselves from each other for several days.

I saw something of myself in Mr. Darcy as we are both intelligent, well-read, taciturn men who need a good deal of solitude. But there the comparison might end. While I once had dark hair and was taller by a bit than I am now, I have never been nearly so tall, handsome, rich or rude as that man. During their engagement Mr. Darcy did prove himself to be better than my first impression of him (or rather my lasting impression of him before I tried to talk Lizzy out of marrying him, when she told me she loved him and what he had done for Lydia), that he was a rather unpleasant sort of man.

But even as my opinion of Mr. Darcy was rising, one of my biggest concerns was that he did not seem to understand my or my Lizzy's sense of humor. I hoped she would eventually take the extra starch out of his shirts and get him to relax enough to learn to laugh at himself. If anyone could teach him, it would be my Lizzy. I supposed, upon reflection, that was why she was marrying him and leaving me behind, he needed her more than I did. I did not completely believe her professions of love at first as if it was love they had, it seemed to make her more serious than joyful, but I had to acknowledge that Mrs. Bennet was right; they made quite the couple.

While I was happy for them, I was also sad for me. Perhaps every father feels this way when he must give his favorite's hand in marriage. Mr. Darcy now seemed to be a good enough sort and he remained the kind of man I would never deign to deny anything that was in my power to give, but was he really (even with his consequence) worthy of my Lizzy? Would he make her happy? I just was not certain. Even after Lizzy was wed, I continued to ponder these questions.

My wife of course did her best to fill the silence caused by having only two daughters at home, jibber-jabbering more than ever. I did not hear more than one word out of ten, sometimes even less. As she no longer had two young accomplices there was more air to fill. From my bookroom it sounded like the twittering of a bird and was almost pleasant.

With such a reduced household, I spoke more with my remaining daughters and tried to take an interest in their concerns. One day, when Mrs. Bennet was gone visiting her sister, I felt a bit bored and decided to walk about the house and see what my daughters were doing as I knew they had both declined to join their mother. I came across Kitty in the parlor, working on decorating a bonnet.

I sat myself down and asked, "Kitty, should you need a new dress made up to go with that bonnet before you go to town with Jane?" (there were plans for Kitty to join the Bingleys for a season).

Kitty replied with a sigh, "Papa, why are you still calling me Kitty? I am not a child anymore and that is a child's name."

I asked, "Than just what should I call you?" I paused and then suggested with a smile, "Empress? Miss Bennet? Beloved daughter?"

She smiled a little, amused a bit despite her apparent determination to have a serious conversation with me, but did not groan loudly or exclaim, "Papa!" as she would have before while making the most unbecoming face. I was struck then by how she was now a woman in fact, acting more like her elder two sisters than her youngest.

I decided to take her comment more seriously. "Do you wish to be Catherine now?"

"Yes, but as that is rather long, you do not have to use it every time. I have decided that, since I am all grown up, Kitty should become Cat."

"Cat," I repeated, musing about her choice. "I like that and it is apt. Now what does your mother have to say about this?"

She groaned and tossed her head a little. With this sound and careless motion of disgust, I could see that not all of her childish impulses had gone away.

"I have told Mama many, _many_ times this week to stop calling me Kitty. Each time she says she understands, but is back to calling me Kitty with her next breath. She tells me it is habit, but I think she cannot be troubled to change her habit. I know that I cannot be successful in this effort with the rest of you if she is always calling me Kitty. If she doesn't change, no one will. Papa, isn't there anything you can do?"

I considered, "Do you not know, _Cat_," I emphasized to make her understand that I was doing my best to make the adjustment, "how stubborn Mrs. Bennet is? Why she is the one who set her cap to me, rather than the other way around! I had contemplated marrying a well-to-do widow in town."

"Really?" Kitty, or rather Cat, leaned forward, interest evident in how she was now devoting her full attention to me, rather than the bonnet in her lap.

"Have you not heard this story before?"

"I did, from Lizzy, but not from you. Mama always just says that when she debuted you were smitten at once and soon after married."

I found myself considering the name "Lizzy" and then decided to ask, "Do you suppose Lizzy wants a more grown up name, too, now that she is married?"

"I do not know. If she does, she will be sure to let you know. But Papa, don't get distracted."

"Papa . . ." I mused over what she was calling me, "Do you suppose I need a more grown up name now from my children as well, now that you are little girls no longer? Perhaps I should become Father."

"_Papa!_ Stop acting this way; I shall call you Father if that is what you would truly prefer, but I think you are getting sidetracked on purpose."

"Maybe," I allowed, "or maybe my age is catching up with me, making me distracted. I do have all grown daughters now, you know. Now what was it we were talking about?"

She glared at me, groaned and rolled her eyes. As much as our whole exchange was amusing me, I decided to get on with my story. I settled more deeply into my chair and began.

"When she debuted, your mama was the most beautiful woman in all of Meryton, nay in all of Hertfordshire likely, and perhaps much farther than that, maybe all the way to London. Your mama always talked about how lively Lydia was, well your mother was plenty lively, too. As it has been several years since I told this story, I think I must have given your sister the version that was appropriate for a young girl's ears, so I shall give you the privilege of hearing the unadulterated truth."

Just then, Mary wandered into the parlor.

"Mary, come sit with me," Cat addressed her, beckoning her to come closer. She set her bonnet on a side table to her right, reserving the rest of the sofa for Mary. "Papa is about to tell me about how he came to marry Mama."

"I've heard that before," Mary said disinterestedly, looking past us to the piano, evidently desiring to interrupt our conversation with her practicing.

"Mary, come sit!" Cat was more emphatic now, patting the sofa with vigor. "Papa says he is going to tell it all, what he couldn't tell to young girls."

At this, Mary looked more interested and sat right next to Cat. I noticed that each of them were treating each other with more interest and care than they had before. This was a welcome development, to be sure.

I decided to have more fun with them and proclaimed, "I don't know if I should tell it now, in front of Mary. It might be more than she could bear to hear. I think Fordyce would think it most improper to hear how your parents were not always paragons of virtue, that we have feet of clay."

"You cannot _not_ tell it now!" Cat wailed, acting much more like the Kitty I knew of yore.

My more polite child, Mary, added her own entreaty, "Please tell us, Papa; I wish to know."

"I have no wish to corrupt you by telling you of improper things," I told Mary, curious as to how she would react.

"Are we not to be as sheep in the midst of wolves? To be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves?" Mary paraphrased the Bible and then went further by adding her own thoughts. "Knowledge alone, not acted on, I think may not corrupt."

"If you are sure?"

"Yes!" They both almost yelled.

"Well, let's see. You know that I attended Cambridge. This was not necessary to be a master of an estate, but my father saw my love of learning and was willing to indulge me in this. He was a kind man and good master, your grandfather. I should have liked to continue to pursue a life of the mind, but your grandfather wanted me to return to Longbourn and settle down, so of course I came back but I was not eager to marry just then. About two years after my return, a friend I had made at university, Ralph Haddington, wrote to me about his sister. I had never met her, but I had seen a small portrait of his family in his room my first year at university. It was a very good likeness of Haddington, and I was drawn to the form of his sister. She was most beautiful with an intelligent look in her eyes. I remember asking Groom, 'Is your sister in lovely in person as she is in the painting?'

"'Yes, quite,' he told me but then quickly added, 'but she has lately married.' That was the end of our conversation about her. The next year he told me to congratulate him as he was now an uncle, his sister, Mrs. Rutley had borne her husband a son.

"In the letter Haddington wrote me, he told me that he should like to introduce me to his sister, as he would have before had her situation been different. He explained that she had been widowed for more than a year and wished to find a new husband. He told me that she had no children, her son having died before his first year. He stated that he was looking for a new husband for her and had remembered my admiration of her portrait."

"Oh how romantic, falling in love with her from her picture," Cat gushed. Before she could say anything more, Mary elbowed her.

"Let Papa speak and do not get caught up in romantic notions about our father and the woman he did not marry."

I waited until they were both silent and I had their attention before I began again. "I was intrigued and agreed to meet Haddington in town to discuss the situation further. When we met and talked I learned that Mrs. Rutley, though she should have been very eligible given her station in life, beauty and the money she would bring to any marriage, having inherited more than her dowry, was having trouble attracting a spouse because of the manner of her husband's demise."

I waited, wanting the drama to build. It seemed to work as my daughters leaned forward a little more, both of them keeping their eyes fixed upon me.

"It seemed that Mr. Rutley fled his mistress's burning London town home as naked as the day he was born during midday. Seeing that his mistress had not fled with him, he played the hero and went back in after her. When the two of them came forth, and she was also naked, but for her jewelry. It seemed that the house on the end of the block had caught first, and as the fire spread the denizens of those abodes came out and were congregating in the street, so there were many on hand to see both of his exits. Furthermore, the conflagration drew a great crowd. There was no where for them to go and she tried to hide herself behind him, while he tried to cover himself with a few leaves from a nearby tree, but was unsuccessful in truly concealing his nakedness so of course everyone saw them before someone finally thought to fetch them some clothes."

I paused again and an impatient Cat asked, "And what happened next?"

"An artist with a sketch pad that he grabbed before he fled his own burning abode, made a quite true-to-life rendition of them and an appropriately cropped copy of it graced a local gossip rag, calling them a fallen Adam and Eve. Mr. Rutley died later, from all the smoke, and somehow, the gossips' tongues were soon wagging that Mrs. Rutley was an unfit wife unwilling to properly indulge her husband, leading him to leap in the arms of another, though it cost him his life. The truth might have died down then, had he not left a bequest to his mistress's son, who was likely his as well though he could not bear his father's name. This was seen as confirmation that Mrs. Rutley was a bad wife, who failed to give him a son. Haddington saw me as someone who might be willing to give his sister respectability again. I met her that day and saw the potential in such a match (she was as lovely as I recalled from the portrait and was well read), but I wished to consult with my father before making such a commitment.

"When I returned home and told my father of the situation, he was not sure I should make her an offer. I remember him asking me, 'What if it is true that she was not a proper wife? I always though to have you marry a maid whose virtue was sure. You must consider this matter carefully as the woman you marry will be the source of your happiness or your misery.' Truer words were never spoken. I had plans to return to London the following week, but then your mother changed all of my plans."

"How did she do that? Were you not truly determined to wed Mrs. Rutley?" Cat inquired.

"I thought I had more or less decided but I had made no formal request or commitment as of then. On my father's advice I paid a visit to Mr. Gardiner (your grandfather was still an attorney at the time and well known for his canny instincts, Meryton lost a great resource when he passed on, Mr. Philips is not his equal, although he is good enough). I visited him to discuss what kind of settlement with Mrs. Rutley would be proper in such a situation. I remember that he seem surprised that I was thinking of marrying such a woman (for of course I had to tell him of the situation in confidence to know what would be appropriate). He told me, 'Young Mr. Bennet, perhaps it has not occurred to you that this Mrs. Rutley may be a merry widow and even now might be trying to conceal the results of an indiscretion. How well do you know her brother Mr. Haddington?' I confessed that we had not been regular correspondents, that I had heard nothing from him before this time after I left Cambridge. Mr. Gardiner asked me, 'Could it be that he is using your lack of connection to town to foist off an immoral wife on you who would bear you the heir of Longbourn with a child who is not your own?' And thus the seed of doubt was sown. Now in reflecting back on all the occurred afterwards, I am unsure if Mr. Gardiner was playing me like a fiddle, or whether he in fact had my best interest at heart and all the occurred afterwards was more about his wife's machinations than his."

"They did not arrange a compromise, did they?" Cat asked. Mary's eyes widened in horror at the thought.

I shook my head in negation and continued. "No, nothing as nefarious as that occurred. I attended the assembly and, as was my usual practice, planned to remain in the card room and avoid dancing with any ladies. However, my father attended as well and said, 'I was just speaking with Mrs. Gardiner. Her daughter Miss Gardiner is most lovely and Mrs. Gardiner told me that Miss Gardiner has been most anxious to be introduced to you. You should make merry and dance before you shackle yourself with that widow. Moreover, it is your duty to dance as gentlemen are scarce and I doubt the young maidens want to be partnered by me. My father added, 'Perhaps you can save us all some trouble and find what you are looking for, here.' He escorted me to Mrs. Gardiner and her daughter.

"I had seen your mother before, of course, but then she was a girl and beneath my notice. But that night, she was all woman, dressed very fine in a dress that showcased her, well, assets. I did not find this out until later, but your mother had set her cap for a militia man and had taken to her bed for weeks after Colonel Millar's regiment left; this was the first assembly when she was in spirits again enough to attend. I think her mother told her that I was her best prospect for a life of consequence and she went forth determined to win me. I asked her to dance, she accepted. As we danced, our eyes frequently met. I found that it took all of my concentration to attend to the steps while seeing her. I was very attracted to her, though not quite smitten, and I think my father knew it (perhaps had even hoped, planned for such an outcome).

"As I escorted Miss Gardiner back to her mother, her hand on my arm, she squeezed my arm, slightly sliding her fingers up and down (in a movement too subtle for others to notice but most obviously deliberate to me) and whispered, in a breathy voice, 'Mr. Bennet, I _do hope_ you will call on me.'

"I was quiet on the carriage ride home, pondering my future. My father left me alone to think. However, after we returned home that evening, my father invited me to have some Scotch with him. While my mouth and throat were still burning from the liquor, he told me, 'that Miss Gardiner is most lovely, I would not be adverse to you adding her to our family. I know your mind was fixed upon that widow, but maybe now you are thinking the better of it. The Gardiners accept calls on Thursdays.'"

I omitted, as it would not be right to talk of such things with my unmarried daughters, what my father said next. He said, 'Listen to me and ponder it carefully before you decide who you should wed. Society women endure rather than enjoy couplings; they think it unseemly to rut like common folk. Whereas a daughter of trade will not have such inhibitions.' I made no reply save for telling him that I was tired and bound for bed.

I next told my daughters, "I pondered what my father told me and began to see the wisdom in his words. I called on Miss Gardiner that very Thursday. Her mother was very hospitable, calling for tea and having a full plate of lemon biscuits brought out to us. She told me, and this should seem familiar to you all, 'I knew my daughter could not be so beautiful for nothing, oh seeing your interest in my Fanny, well I am so pleased!' Perhaps this should have scared me away, but as it comported with my own plans it did not bother me in the least. After I called on Miss Gardiner a second time, Mrs. Gardiner was telling everyone (within my hearing no less), 'Mark my words, my Fanny shall be married before the fall is over. Oh what consequence she shall have, oh how glorious to see her well settled at Longbourn and joining the gentry, and oh so close to Netherfield, a mother could not want anything more.' So you see, if a man is truly interested, he will not have a care what his beloved's mother says.

"My courtship with your mother was swift. After perhaps my fourth call on Miss Gardiner, I told her mother, 'I should like a private audience with Miss Gardiner.' She certainly knew what I was about, telling me, 'I am so pleased and so will she be.' Looking back on my decision, I can recognize that I decided to marry your mother based more on lust than actual compatibility. Yes, you have seen that portrait of your mother with Jane when she was still a small babe, but that portrait does not do her justice. Whatever else your mother may be, she is certainly most handsome, even now. Upon the bans being read thrice we married, less than two months after that assembly."

I did not tell my daughters that other than that one private audience in which I proposed, was accepted and sealed that acceptance with a kiss, Fanny was so well guarded during our courtship and engagement, that I never have another opportunity do anything more than hold her hand and this lack of contact drove me wild. Every night I thought of her as I gave myself self-pleasure, so as to not embarrass myself when in her company.

I think my father knew how crazed I was becoming, while waiting to engage in face making. One evening he said to me, 'Tom, doubtless you have heard from your friends about the pleasures of the flesh if you have not indulged in them yourself. At such a time in a young man's life, I think he is thinking most about his upcoming pleasure. While it is natural to do so, this would be a mistake. A husband must think of his wife, also. Most women will willingly due their duty, but it is better that they enjoy it rather than just endure it. While marrying a woman born of trade, means she will not think it unseemly to enjoy herself, how you begin will set the tone for the whole of your interactions. A little foresight now, a little self-restraint, will pay dividends.'

As I was always most eager for new knowledge, I found out all I could from my father (trying all the while to ignore the fact that when my father was talking with me of how a man should be with his wife, that he was talking about my dearly departed mother, gone some ten years). Then, on his suggestion, I perused some certain books he made known to me.

Still, this could not quell my eagerness for the event. It was most improper, but right after our wedding breakfast I marched the new Mrs. Bennet up the stairs to my room and unwrapped that which now belonged to me. Fanny was shy and scared and absolutely perfect. I had no doubt of her virtue from her wide-eyed reaction to everything we did. The promise of Fanny's body as I had observed it when she was clothed, was fulfilled when I saw her unclothed. If anything, Fanny's dugs were more spectacular than I had expected from only having seen their outline when they were properly restrained. Her dairy was large and perky and I discovered that underneath the padding of her panniers, she still had ample childbearing hips that I imagined grasping with my hands.

Being a gentleman and wanting her to enjoy the marital bed (as I planned for us to both enjoy it quite a lot), I followed my father's advice and restrained myself for a time so that I could be very attentive to Fanny. The more pleasure I gave her, the more uninhibited she became. The joining was everything I could have hoped for, and in the morning Fanny welcomed a repeat performance. She soon proved to be most adventurous, suggesting herself that she might be above me (though of course she did not know that this was called "the dragon riding St. George." I was lost for a moment in remembering a certain dinner party we were hosting in which she pulled me away from our guests, telling them, "It seems that there is a problem, that requires Mr. Bennet." When we were out of view, she all but attacked me with her lips, her hands delving into my britches, demanding, "Ready yourself Mr. Bennet; I need your attention, now!" I ushered her up the stairs and into my book room. While I was locking the door, she lay back upon my desk. I turned to see her there, skirts lifted, waiting for me, demanding I pleasure her. Fortunately, I was _up_ for the challenge. But we did leave our guests waiting longer than was strictly seemly.

"Papa!" I was called back to myself by Cat. "What are you thinking about now? Are you remembering marrying Mama?"

"Yes, I am." I was never going to tell my daughters that I was remembering rutting with their mother.

"Do you know what ever happened to Mrs. Rutley?" Cat asked me. "I cannot help but feel a bit bad for her, that Mama stole you away."

"Ah, that is an interesting part of the story, one that I did not know about until after Jane married Mr. Bingley."

"What does this have to do with the Bingleys?"

"Well, it seems that Mrs. Rutley became Mrs. Bingley, the mother of your new brother. So everything worked out for her, but for the carriage accident that cost Mr. and Mrs. Bingley (the elder) their lives."

"Your mother was most lovely and still is."

Just then Mrs. Bennet swept into the room, already speaking. "Kitty, Mary, you will never guess what I heard from Mrs. Philips!" Then she noticed me and said, "Oh, hello Mr. Bennet."

"Papa was just telling us about how you came to marry you," Cat announced.

"You were?" Fanny looked at me. I nodded and as our eyes met, she must have seen my lust, which had been triggered by those most happy of memories and seeing her now, still looking lovely and desirable, for after a long pause she said, "The news will have to wait, there is something that I must speak to your father about." She beckoned me to follow her and follow her I did, right back to my book room.

It had been years since we had spent any time in my book room together, but without any request from her I locked the door. I turned to her and we stared at one another.

"Just what were you talking to our daughters about?"

"Nothing inappropriate, although I will admit that it reminding me of how often we indulged when we were first wed."

"You have not sought me out in some time," she said the words slowly, an expression of hurt crossing her face.

"You have also not sought me out," I responded.

"It is not the wife's job to seek out her husband," she told me primly.

"When did propriety ever stop you when you had need of me," I countered.

"It is not that I have not wanted to," she confessed, "but I could not stand to have you turn me away, to see that you did not wish for me anymore. I never gave you the son you deserved and I am twice the age I am since we wed. The last time I tried you were not up for it."

I sighed, "I was embarrassed. Things do not always work so easily for me now. My desires are unchanged but my ability to enact them is reduced; I fear it is a result of age and will only get worse. You must understand, it has nothing to do with how desirable you are. I still see the woman who I hurried up to my chambers with unseemly haste when our marriage was only hours old, uncaring if the servants talked."

"Well, why did you not tell me what the difficulty was?"

"I thought you were trying to indulge me out of pity, out of duty, not from any true desire for me. I am far older than you, have many wrinkles, a paunch, much less hair atop my head and too much hair upon my back. You did not seek me out again."

"I was scared to be rejected. I know you do not respect me. I am not learned, I have no interest in books, I am not like Lizzy."

"No, you are not." I pondered a bit. Could Fanny be jealous? I knew my relationship with my daughter was all that was appropriate between a father and a daughter, but given Lizzy's cleverness and our similar interests, she did receive more of my time and attention than my wife did. Was that why she wanted Lizzy to marry Mr. Collins, to get her away from me and regain more attention for herself? I told her, "I do have a certain affinity with Lizzy, I think her more clever than the rest of our daughters, but I always knew I would lose her to a husband. Fanny, surely you know, my dear, that it is you that I love and that it is you that I have always wanted in my bed, whether I have the ability to indulge or not."

Mrs. Bennet lept at me then, wrapping her arms around me, our lips meeting in a hungry kiss. I felt an appropriate swell in my appendage, sent a silent prayer of thanks aloft, for at such a time a lack of response would have undone all of the words we had exchanged. I rubbed myself against her, to let her feel how much I desired her. "Do you remember that dinner party, Fanny, when you pulled me away from our guests so that I could have you here, on this very desk?" In answer, she backed us toward my desk and when we reached it she lay herself back upon it. The re-creation of that glorious event was perhaps even better than the original, though we were less limber and my back hurt afterwards.

This event helped us achieve a harmony that had been sadly lacking for years. I was honest with her then, explaining that my body needed more time to replenish itself then when I was a young man, that I could not always give her what I wished, what she deserved. Although I simply did not have the capacity to match her desire with my silent flute, we found new ways to have marital indulgence. It was at this time that I showed Fanny some of the books I had learned much from so long ago and I found that my wife's sense of adventure in the bedroom (and any other rooms we could lock from the inside), had not faltered. In many ways I probably became a better lover as I was called upon to be creative, to use my mouth, tongue and fingers more.

I missed Cat when she was gone with the Bingleys. I missed her when she married and moved away. But I was still content, until Mrs. Bennet sickened. As she was several years my junior, I did not think she would die from what was diagnosed as being an ailment of her heart. Longbourn was much more silent now as she had not the strength to fill it with her prattle. Mary thought it her duty to keep vigil at Mrs. Bennet's bed, so I seldom had any time alone with my wife. She seemed to rally for a time and I had hope of her recovery, but one day she was simply gone.

Then it was simply me and Mary, and the servants. I had long thought Mary to be the dullest of my daughters, not because she was stupid but because she seemed to have a perverse interest in only dull subjects. The study of scripture is all well and good, but studying how to act as a proper young woman by someone who distorts what scripture says to demean the natural impulses of youth, well such an author is entitled to no respect. While a dash of Fordyce mayhap would have provided just the tempering Lydia had needed, with a pious, humble, reserved girl like Mary, such reading only seemed to grind her down like a spice mill upon cloves. She kept dully plodding along, studying this work and banging on the piano. Out of self preservation, I tried to interest her in other subjects, but Mary can be every bit as stubborn as Lydia. It was all too quiet at Longbourn (except of course when she was at the piano).

After Mrs. Bennet was gone for more than a year, I decided that it was time for me to visit Lizzy and investigate why she was not yet with child. It was something that had been troubling my wife before she passed. She told me, "I suppose it might be my fault. There is so much more information I could have given my daughters, but I did not want them disappointed if their husbands proved less considerate than you. I imagine that Mr. Darcy would be too proud to ask for help if their marital relations are not all that they should be and he might neglect to visit her if she enjoys it not." I knew I owed it to Fanny to see if the matter could be righted. Nothing would have given her more delight than for each of her daughters to produce a proper heir as she had failed to do (though not from lack of trying).

Given the proximity to the Bingleys' estate, I also planned to visit them as well, and become acquainted with their daughter. While I knew the right thing to do would be to write and tell Lizzy that I would be visiting her (I had a standing invitation but had never visited yet), I decided it would be more amusing if I showed up unannounced. Mary refused to come with me, so I left her in the care of the Philipses and temporarily closed up the house. I had heard from Lizzy's letters that Mr. Darcy's aunt was living with them now and I thought it might be amusing to see how they coped with such an august person.


	12. Chapter 12

**I have amended and changed the end of the last chapter so that it can more appropriately beget this chapter (and also edited it to show more clearly why Mrs. Bennet was jealous of Mr. Bennet's time with Lizzy), so if you are reading each chapter as it is released, you will want to review the changes to it.**

**Mrs. Collins's POV: Mrs. Darcy's Problem  
**

Eliza was visiting me and the children at the vicarage which we had now lived in for nigh on two years. It was the nurse's half day so we were alone but for the children.

Lady Catherine had insisted on a nurse following the birth of my second child. I was not of a mind to oppose her only minutes after the midwife pulled the baby from my body and Lady Catherine barged in (my maid at the time must have sent word to her on Lady Catherine's orders). Before the midwife had even given my child to me or told me what kind of child it was (she was pushing down on my abdomen which had just expelled the afterbirth and trying to make my womb clench and lessen my bleeding), I heard through my exhausted haze, my eyes closed in abject exhaustion, Lady Catherine's strident voice declaring, "Give the child to me!" and then, "Ah, Mrs. Collins, you've done your duty well in producing a man child, in giving your husband his heir. He shall be William of course, after his father, but you may call him Billy. Now I will brook no opposition on you hiring a nurse immediately. Surely you see you are in no position to look after two young children and with two livings your husband can certainly afford it. Just rest and I will take care of it all. And of course I will be his godmother as I was for Cathy."

I was reminded how we had never asked Lady Catherine to be our Catherine's godmother, although our daughter was named for her. Mr. Collins was very insistent that there could be no other name for our first daughter, telling me within days of our marriage, "My darling Charlotte, while, naturally I hope for a son, should you bear a girl child, it is only right to honor our most beneficent patroness. After all, I was only in a position to marry you because I received the living from Lady Catherine and it was she who urged me to seek a bride among my family, which resulted in me gaining your hand."

It was well that I liked the name enough to give it to our daughter for as I had wryly told William a few months later as we lay in our bed talking, having just received confirmation from the midwife that I was indeed with child, "I am not sure if we selected another name that Lady Catherine might not insist that we alter our selection to satisfy her, and thus a child we chose to name Hannah might become Horatia, a Phoebe a Prudence, a Tabitha a Theodosia, but I hardly foresee her rejecting her own name, saying a Catherine should be a" here I grasped for an unsuitable substitution that started with a "C" only to come up short and pick the ugliest name I could think of, "Awellah. She arranges everything else in our lives, we might as well decide to willingly indulge her."

"Oh, how wise you are!" He exclaimed. "Her directions for our face making have yielded much enjoyment, I dare say, and look how quickly they have yielded fruit." William placed a splayed out hand upon the slight swell below my belly button, and I enjoyed seeing the reflection of this gesture in my looking glass."

I remembered my embarrassment when just days after our marriage Lady Catherine insisted on examining the items I brought with me from Lucas Lodge and picking just the right placement for them or suggesting I discard them if they were chipped or mismatched, telling me, "These you may give to Mrs. Bates but my parson should not have these in his house." But I had never imagined that she would spot the looking glass I had brought from Lucas Lodge, which was turned face down against the side of wardrobe in a different bedroom.

When Lady Catherine lifted the looking glass and examined it with a critical eye, I feared she would deem it unworthy because although it was quite large, perhaps two feet by three feet, it was slightly clouded in one corner. It was before this glass, with its ornate metal frame, which my mother used to do my hair as I looked on before father was knighted and she decided we needed a finer house with newer everything. Then it had become mine and I often did my own hair before it, or Maria's hair. It was this looking glass in which I took my final look as a maiden and reassured my reflection, "All will be well, I shall have security." It was this looking glass whose placement in the carriage required that I sit next to my new husband on our way to my new home.

I was not sure what I would do if Lady Catherine declared I could not keep. I was relieved, then, when she said, "This shall do and I know just where it belongs." She snapped her fingers and as if by magic a footman appeared. "Gerald, pick up this looking glass and follow me." We trailed them to our chambers, the bed freshly made up, as if it had never borne our bodies intertwined. "Here, it must go right here," she indicated the wall facing the foot of our bed, just above a table and chair where crotchety Mrs. Bates helped me with my hair.

Certainly this was a sensible placement for it, but I immediately understood that it could also reflect more private activities. I was not sure if Lady Catherine was cognizant of this or not. Perhaps she just found it to be an aesthetically pleasing and practical spot or perhaps she thought that us seeing the reflection of our marital intimacies might benefit us. I never inquired after her reasoning for after her initial instructions and us reporting back to her the following day, I avoided speaking of that subject as much as she would allow.

It was not so bad to glimpse us in the looking glass when my abdomen was still slim, but when my body was thickening with our first child I felt ugly and was always bidding William to blow out the candles so I did not have to see my ponderous body against his (which had gradually become more trim from his gardening activities). It took him a while to understand why I always insisted on darkness, but when I finally confessed he told me, "Do you not understand how seeing your ripe, womanly body from all angles makes me desire you even more? Your round belly always makes me think, that is my beloved wife who is filled with my longed for child! I did that from doing this," he ran his hands over me. "I love your more generous dairy with your darker nipples and rounder bum."

I looked at my body differently after that day. Even after I recovered from Cathy's birth and was still aware of how my shape would never be the same, with the stretch marks, the wrinkly skin beneath my belly button which would never more condense back after how it had been stretched, the saggier breasts, William did not seem to care. When I mentioned how my body had altered, he traced each change with his hands, laid a kiss upon every flaw and told me, "This is beautiful, this is lovely, this is delightful. You did something momentous, something miraculous, for all that we are all born in such a way. The body that bore my daughter and will bear all of our children is even more glorious to me than the one I married." How could I not love even more the man that said such sweet words to me and meant them.

When we moved to the vicarage at Pemberley, William asked me when we were alone in our chambers, "May we put up the looking glass here?" while gesturing to the wall behind the headboard of our bed. I felt my face heat, imagined him over me, glancing in the glass to see our bodies moving together, or him posing me so that as he took me from behind, he could see my breasts swaying, pendulous, just above my rounded belly. I felt my breath catch. I imagined seeing all of his admiration for my form and in my embarrassment could only nod. And so it was that my looking glass, when it arrived, was one of the first objects we placed in our bedroom.

However, that placement only lasted us through one or two sessions in our bed before we found that the pounding of the bed-frame upon the wall caused the mirror to fall. Fortunately, it landed on our bedding and was not damaged, but it was clear it could not stay there. He had it placed on a sidewall, and had our bed turned so one long side was against the back wall. But then one day as I returned to the vicarage from calling on Mrs. Darcy, I was surprised to find two new looking glasses, one on the other side wall and another on the far wall, with our bed more conventionally arranged. I wondered what my new maid would think, but she was the soul of discretion and never said one word about it. I found that I enjoyed seeing William pounding into me and seeing myself come undone when his head blocked just exactly what he was doing to me between my thighs (when I could resist the urge to close my eyes and give into just feeling).

The mirrors came in handy when our son came, also, for I was able to see the dark fuzz from the top of his head emerge as my lower lips parted to birth him, and seeing such progress urged me on to push, push and push some more. I also saw him slither out when the midwife pulled him forth, though I had no sense of his parts, only seeing the large head, his skin white and red, the little mouth that she cleared with a swipe of her finger, and then his screams which revealed his mouth was not that small. His face seemed squished, his head oldly pointed and too large compared to his body (I could not recall exactly what Cathy looked like when she was freshly birthed child), but to me he was lovely. The midwife wrapped him in a blanket and then shifted him to the crook of her left arm as she urged me to push once more and I saw the afterbirth plop out and felt her press upon my abdomen, the baby clutched in her other arm as I closed my eyes. Just after that was when Lady Catherine came in.

Although Lady Catherine was most demanding, I suppose she was both more and less strong than I imagined she would be when it came to my children. When Cathy was born, a day before her christening she called upon us and said in a voice that could not be gainsaid, "I will be the child's godmother!"

While Mr. Collins was singing her praises and expressing how we could not be worthy of such condescension, I asked, "Why?"

"Because it is only right to care for her and her family, because she is my namesake, because she is born to my most loyal parson and his wife. Because it makes us almost family." She paused and I could see tears glistening in her eyes. It was the first time I had seen her vulnerable and her next words split me wide open. "Please give me this, perhaps my Anne is not long for this world, I would have a reason to go on if the worst should happen."

"Then we would be delighted," I told her, adding, "Cathy could have no one better."

At Cathy's christening, Lady Catherine scooped Cathy from my hands and held her against her fine brocade, leaving me feeling superfluous standing beside Mr. Collins. At least he had the water to sprinkle upon Cathy from the fount. Lady Catherine boomed out her acceptance of the duties of being our daughter's godmother and after the christening was over handed her back to me with what seemed like regret. She had done the same for Billy and would inevitably claim all of my future children in like manner, of this I had no doubt.

"What will you name this one?" Elizabeth was asking me, apparently noticing the way I was idly stroking my stomach. I shook myself a little to clear my mind from my reverie, looking around my surroundings, and recalling that Cathy, who was three and a half, had settled in her bed and was already down for her nap. Billy, who was 19 months old and currently grasped in Eliza's arms, appeared to be losing his battle to stay awake.

"Perhaps Anne, to honor Lady Catherine's Anne."

Eliza rocked Billy gently as he sucked his thumb, quiet but still wide eyed. But I knew not to be fooled, Billy was the type to suddenly drop. Eliza has a good touch with Billy, especially, and without warning his eyes fluttered closed and his arms limply relaxed. Eliza continued to hold him, but now relaxed back onto the sofa. For some minutes we did not speak. I felt sleepy myself, and if not for her presence I would have likely napped as well. I was large with my third child.

"Fitz and I have talked about the name Anne, to honor his mother," she told me.

"Do you have news? Do you have an expectation?" I asked Eliza, suddenly alert, my sleepiness vanishing, a congratulatory sentence waiting to be issued. The Darcys had been married too long to have no issue yet. When my mother wrote to me, her letters had been filled with recounting Mrs. Bennet's despair that of all of her married children, only Elizabeth had yet to bear a child. While I did not hear nearly as much from my mother on such a topic after Mrs. Bennet's death, she still occasionally told me, "Be sure to advise me, should Mrs. Darcy become with child, Mrs. Phillips always asks me if you have heard anything."

"No," Eliza said in a subdued voice. "I have just about lost hope that it will ever come to be. It has been far, far too long! But perhaps, now that the children are at peace, we may freely talk of things unfit for their ears."

"Just what did you want to speak about, Eliza?" I asked her, curious. It was not unusual for us to talk about many things which held no interest for our children, when they were otherwise engaged in their play, but I had the sense that she had a different sort of conversation in mind.

Eliza asked me, a blush suffusing her face as she averted her eyes, "Charlotte, I have never thanked you for the advice you gave me before my wedding day about marital relations. I was very embarrassed at the time, but I would have you know that heeding your advice has given me much satisfaction. In fact, at least part of the reason that Mr. Darcy gave Mr. Collins this living stemmed from wishing to reward you for how you have benefited us both. So, given how quickly you have produced your two children and even now await your third, could you, perhaps, advise me as to how you have achieved such success? I thought frequent congress would be enough as my mother said it would, but my courses still come regularly each month and I can no longer ask her."

I was just on the verge of asking her a series of questions, just to make sure they were not doing anything wrong, when we were interrupted by my maid of all trade, Mrs. Holmes (as our maid from Hunsford, Mrs. Bates had no interest in relocating we had a newer, younger woman that I vastly preferred), burst in and declared, "Pardon, but Mrs. Darcy is needed at home. It seems that Mr. Bennet has come for a visit."

Elizabeth shook off her melancholy and responded, "I am so glad Papa has come even if he was a sly one to give me no warning, but I must hurry back to Pemberley. Mrs. Reynolds will be wondering which chambers should be his for the duration and Mrs. Richards will want to know his favorite dishes so we can alter the menus accordingly. Mrs. Collins, our discussion will have to wait for another time."

She very slowly set Billy down upon a cot and one-by-one slid her arms free, just as I had shown her. Billy hardly stirred and as always his resting face resembled his father's, but for his soft blond curls. Elizabeth grabbed a blanket and gently settled it over him.

"I must go, but father or no father, Charlotte you must call for me when your time is nigh."

"I shall, but although I may seem fit to burst, I would wager I have almost another month to go."

A wistful expression crossed Eliza's face but was gone a moment later as she told me goodbye while she walked out the nursery door.

Although I generally saw Eliza twice a week, as with my confinement I was no longer fit to be seen by any outside of my home (and then very few would call upon me in my current state), I did not see Eliza on her regular day the following week. This did not surprise me; I was sure she was busy with her father.

However, I was certain we would have word of what was happening at the house when Mrs. Holmes announced Lady Catherine. She did not wait for us to meet her in the parlor but instead followed Mrs. Holmes into the nursery. Mr. Collins, who was sitting beside me with Cathy on his lap as he read to her, immediately set the book aside and clasped Cathy more tightly in his arms and rose to greet our first patroness saying, "Lady Catherine, how kind you are, to have come to call upon us at our humble home."

Lady Catherine immediately made a shooing gesture and said, "Mr. Collins, it is quite alright, I am sitting down now," but then added, somewhat contradictory and imperiously, "Please bring me my goddaughter."

She need not have bothered, though, as immediately Cathy squirmed to get down and then raced to Lady Catherine's open arms calling, "Wady Cat-Cat!" When she was inches from her, Cathy halted, pinched her skirts and executed a rough curtsy.

"My, my, what a little lady you are becoming, so dignified, so polite!" Lady Catherine cooed. "Come here, Cathy. Cat-Cat is waiting for her hug."

Cathy scrambled into her lap, rumpling her costly skirts, but Lady Catherine only smiled. The next few minutes were spent with Cathy regaling Lady Catherine about what had transpired in her absence. "Bil-we boke my dol-we. I sanked 'im and he bit me."

Lady Catherine looked to me for an explanation and I explained with regret how Billy had managed to climb some shelves and pulled down Cathy's expensive porcelain doll, which Lady Catherine had given her, and its head had shattered upon the nursery floor. I forced a chuckle and told her, "Cathy was very angry and tried to spank Billy, but she only got in a few licks before he bit her."

"And I, ouchie ouchie, Bil-we bit here," Cathy pointed to a small and fading bruise, "an' I cut my finger pickin' up pieces." Cathy held her finger up for inspection, although the cut had already healed, leaving a thin, white line.

"Oh my poor darling," Lady Catherine exclaimed, holding her closer. "Brothers are the worst, I should know. You must have a new doll, a better doll."

"Will Bil-we bake baby?" She pointed to my belly.

Lady Catherine gave me a quizzical look and I translated. "Cathy is worried that Billy will break the baby like he broke her doll. I keep telling her that we will not ever leave the baby alone with Billy and that babies are stronger than China dolls."

Lady Catherine forgot us as she offered her own reassurances to Cathy and then listed and responded to everything else Cathy told her. Lady Catherine then produced a small glass jar from her reticule and from it began feeding Cathy raisins and dried apricots as Cathy snuggled against her. After the dried fruit was all consumed, Cathy entertained herself by playing with Lady Catherine's necklaces. She fell asleep in Lady Catherine's arms as Lady Catherine stroked her hair.

When Cathy was asleep, Lady Catherine turned to us and I asked, "How have you liked Mr. Bennet?"

"At first I thought he was most peculiar." She sniffed. "What kind of a father just arrives at his daughter's home without even sending her a letter to ask whether it is a good time for a visit and waiting for a response?"

I refrained from answering as I wished to ("Perhaps someone like an aunt who only advises her nephew that she, her parson and her parson's family will be visiting by posting a letter which only arrives a day before they do."). Instead, I replied, "I have always found Mr. Bennet to be a bit mercurial in his moods. I fancy he thought it would be a good joke to surprise his daughter by suddenly turning up, but I daresay that nevertheless Mrs. Darcy has been pleased with his visit."

"Yes, that is true, she was most happy to see him, but they do not spend much time together. He joins us for dinner each night, but most of the rest of the time he sequesters himself in the Pemberley library. I do not understand why he has come only to stay away from the rest of us most of the time. I would think he would be missing society since his wife died and all but one daughter has left his home."

"From what I have known of him, Mr. Bennet has always liked his solitude."

Mr. Collins volunteered, "It is my God-given duty to visit my cousin and give him succor for his loss. I have been remiss in not visiting sooner and thanking him again for how kind she was when I visited."

I thought this would likely be the last thing Mr. Bennet would desire, if Mr. Collins was going to revert to how he was before in the presence of Mr. Bennet. But I made it a point to never disagree with my husband before others. I did this for two reasons, it would not be respectful as his wife and I knew how much belittling he had experienced from his father (as time had gone on he had confided further in me) and I never wanted him to feel that way again and most definitely never wanted to be the cause of the sorrow I had seen countless times in his eyes.

Lady Catherine intervened. "Mr. Bennet does not like to talk about Mrs. Bennet. I thought perhaps he might, that we might be able to share about those that we have lost, but though he has kindly listened to me about Anne he says little of his wife. He must have loved her dearly and it is fresher for him, although I understand from little comments Darcy has made that she was a frivolous woman. Having only met her the one time, I remember her to be hospitable and quite handsome for her years, although we appeared to be of a similar age. Mrs. Darcy favors her." Although Lady Catherine did not voice it, I could almost hear her say, "Mrs. Bennet was certainly prettier than me." I had many times had rather the same thought when I compared myself to Eliza and I recognized something of the expression on her face. She added, "I think, perhaps, he thought if he was somewhere else he would think about her less, but I imagine he only thinks about her more. That is how it is for me, when I see new sights, I want to tell Anne about them."

In a sudden moment of candor and vulnerability, Lady Catherine told us, "Thank you for letting me be godmother to your children. None can ever replace Anne or my other children, but it does my heart good to see these little ones grow." She drew herself up a bit more regally and then said, "Speaking of children, Mr. Bennet has expressed concern to me that Mrs. Darcy has gone so long without having a child. I have been considering whether I should speak to her about it, and offer her some advice."

She looked at me, waiting for me to make a response. I realized then, how much Lady Catherine had truly changed. "I would hold off for now. Eliza came to me for advice about that, but we had hardly begun before Mrs. Holmes came in and told us that Mr. Bennet had arrived. But I shall be sure to consult with you if needed."

Lady Catherine inclined her head and then she changed the topic of conversation.

That night in our bed, William asked me, "Do you think it is possible the Darcys are doing something wrong?"

I responded, "It seems most unlikely. They are both quite intelligent."

"And handsome, they would have lovely children."

"Yes, lovely children," I echoed, hearing his voice as if it were far away as I was floating away towards sleep.

He asked me, "Should you like me to dress as Mr. Darcy does, with such tight breeches? They would have looked odd when I was larger, but perhaps I could wear them now."

This roused me a bit and I murmured, "Why are you talking about tight clothes when I am unfit to be seen by anyone no matter how loose my skirts? I do not think that you, as a man of the cloth, are expected to dress that way. Why, do you wish to be more fashionable?"

"I have no use for it," he told me, "but I would dress that way should you desire it. I always wish to please you."

"I like you just as you are," I told him, struggling to stay awake. "I know that is the height of fashion, but it just does not look very comfortable."

I felt him gently kiss my forehead and then knew nothing until I woke to use the necessary and then once again drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Yay for the holiday weekend giving me more time to write!**

**Chapter 13: Mr. Bennet's POV: I Never Expected to Like Lady Catherine  
**

When I first visited Pemberley, I expected to find amusement in my daughter's and son's attempts to cope with the most distinguished and important Lady Catherine. I was hopeful that such distraction would help me ignore my grief. Although my missives to Mrs. Darcy tended to be short and infrequent, Mrs. Darcy wrote frequently and freely shared all of her concerns with me (save for the concern that she surely had felt, that she had not become with child). Thus, I knew that Mr. Collins' concern about my daughter's marriage not being properly sanctioned by Lady Catherine had, when her nephew sent word of their engagement, been met with a deluge of hateful mail that had not halted upon their marriage.

I also knew that Lizzy had urged her husband to try to make some kind of peace with his aunt and that because he was a man violently in love, he would attempt to give my daughter all that she desired even if he, himself, might have rather rejected any further intercourse with a difficult relative. Thus in a series of letters, my daughter told me of his first efforts, his aunt's rather ugly initial responses and then the uneasy truce they reached in which Lady Catherine acknowledged that the deed was done and could not be undone, so she would have to accept it, but did not acknowledge that Mr. Darcy had been within his rights to decide who he should marry.

I also heard further secondhand reports about Miss Anne de Bourgh's failing health (and the Darcys' speculation that this might be hyperbole to engender sympathy and get them to visit Rosings, but also concern that it might be true based on what Mrs. Collins had related), and then their regret that they had not visited before Miss de Bourgh died. I must admit that I responded even less to those letters than the ones that came before as Mrs. Bennet's health was also failing and in reading about Miss de Bourgh's passing, it almost seemed to portend what would happen with my Fanny.

When Mrs. Bennet's health was declining, many a time I offered to send for Jane, Lizzy, Cat and even Lydia. I believed that they would come, if I asked, but Mrs. Bennet (when she was still able to voice what she wanted) told me, "It is better that my daughters not see me this way. It cannot be avoided with Mary, of course, but I would rather they remembered me arranging everything for their weddings and celebrating their marriages, than as an invalid." Thus, whenever one of them threatened to visit, I was always bid to write that she had improved and do my best to stave off a visit.

This worked with all but Lydia. She wrote to me begging:

_Papa, can you not send money so that I may come visit Mama? She needs her dearest child at such a time! If she is as improved as you say, then she will not mind when I visit with George Jr. and little Frederick. She would so like to see how handsome they are, both as handsome as my dear Wickham and I should dearly like for all my friends to see how well I have done in giving my husband sons._

_Pen and Harriet would be so jealous, for __Harriet __has only had a daughter and __Pen __is still Miss Harrington, though Pen has written that young Mr. Lucas has been calling upon her and she may soon be engaged. I cannot see that he is old enough for marriage yet. I cannot think of him without seeing him with only the barest of whiskers. Pen should have gotten Chamberlayne to marry her instead; they had such a good time together when we dressed him in Aunt Phillips's gown and I remember Pen insisted on buttoning the gown herself and thus laid her hands upon his back. I was not jealous as he was more boy than man then and certainly nothing to Denny and Wickham, but still I thought he favored her. Pen just needed to offer Chamberlayne some encouragement and she would have been Penelope Chamberlayne and married before me, though I supposed that would not have done, since he had not even reached his majority then__ and was not an officer so had less to offer._

_I wish Wickham could get some leave, as he could certainly do with a rest. Why his colonel insists on him finishing all his duties before he returns to me each night I do not know. It is pointless for him to be forced to work hard when he cannot pay for his advancement, but his Colonel is quite free in flogging men who do not do their part. I am hopeful that Lizzy can prevail upon her husband to see to Wickham's promotion before too long. _

Fanny told me, "While it is certainly hard to have my liveliest daughter so far away, she more than the others I never want to see me this way. It would break her heart, she loves me so dearly and is always so kind in her letters to share every bit of her fun with me. No, Mr. Bennet, you shall surely not send her any funds. Tell her we have nothing to spare." I faithfully followed my wife's decision, relieved that Lydia would not be able to come without help.

Later I received another letter. In it, first Lydia told us about all the balls and schemes she had attended (she had begun writing of these things to me, with the instruction that I should read her letters to her mother and I had begun penning Fanny's responses for her). Then she voiced her dismay about what a bother it was to find other women who were willing to watch her sons. _Imagine, they call my boys unmannerly, but boys are boys and a willingness to fight will have them in good stead when they are old enough to be soldiers, for I wish for them to earn glory and battlefield promotions_.

I was most curious about whether she had obtained the means to visit, but that was a matter she did not address until the end:

_I so wished to visit Mama, and was able to procure the funds from the Bingleys and the Darcys which should have been more than enough, but it turned out that Wickham had need of the money they sent for he had a few debts from some card games, and I forgot I still needed to pay the dressmaker and what was left after that was not nearly enough so I bought a hat instead, so it seems I shall not be able to visit after all unless I can contrive for them to be more generous or for you to open your purse strings._

_Surely, dear Papa, you have extra money now that four of your daughters are well married! If you are saving money for Mary's dowry or using money for new gowns for her, you should send it to me instead. After all, we all know that she will never marry and what need has she of fancy dresses? Surely Mary may get gowns a plenty from our sisters when they are a few seasons out of date, which will be good enough for her I dare say__, maybe sooner as I expect that Jane or Cat may have stayed stout after bearing a child. I, of course, have always been fast enough get my figure back, what with all the dances I attend and soon enough Wickham shall get my belly full again; he cannot ever seem to let me be, but after all that is what a wife is for._

So while Lydia among all of our daughters might have truly visited whether we wanted her to do so or not, never could get the necessary funds together to follow through on her threat. After I sent her the black edged letter telling her that her mother had died, the letter she sent in response was much what I expected. While her sisters spoke of their sadness and about their regrets in not visiting and how much they hurt for me and Mary, Lydia's was all about her:

_Oh Papa, I cannot believe that Mama is gone and you selfishly held back the funds so that I could visit her. If I had been there, I would have wailed and carried on as much as anyone else, and then gone all around Meryton so that everyone would know from my visage that my mama had died. They would say, "Oh you poor dear, but so brave to be shopping for your family's mourning clothes at such a time, when you could have sent a servant instead" and I would have told them about the sacrifice I made to leave my poor Wickham without his wife and tell them about my brave sons who were so sad that their grandmother was gone (for of course Mary would be taking care of them while I shopped for she would have no idea as to what would suit at such a time as this, she would probably want an ugly high-necked gown, or just want to dye her existing clothes, and while that might work for her, I certainly would need a properly made up new mourning gown). _

_However, here at Newcastle, we are so removed from you that I have seen no need to wear mourning clothes, but I should like a mourning ring if you have seen fit to have those made up. Although the contrast of black with my skin would make it seem even more pale and becoming, I would of course be obliged to stay at home and give up dancing for many months and that would never do. I am certain Mama would understand._

I took a sort of peevish, perverse joy in writing back to her, in crafting my sardonic response to be all that it should be while hearing my sarcasm bleed through. Undoubtedly it would go over her head, much as it often did over my dear wife's. In relevant part I wrote:

_My dear child, I am so sorry you were not able to attend to your mother before she passed or to myself and Mary in our immediate grief. I know you would have done all I could have expected and more. But it would have been such a hardship for your husband to have spared you, that it is well that you did not come._

_When you think of your mother, please think of how happy she was when you returned a dutifully married woman with a ring upon your finger and a broad smile upon your face, happy to have secured a man worthy of you. Oh how Mrs. Bennet loved to talk about her daughter, Mrs. Wickham. I remember when we received the news she could not help but exclaim about how well your new name sounded and how much she wished to have you settled near to us._

_You are correct that she would not have begrudged you your fun. I think when we married, she was a bit disappointed that she caught so quickly with Jane and the rest of you, for in Meryton it was not considered seemly for a married woman to dance when she was beginning to thicken with a child and she quite gave up dancing altogether after Elizabeth was followed so quickly by Mary. She always delighted to see how you were never obliged to sit down at a ball and attracted the admiration of so many. It was all that any mother could have desired from you._

While I was at Longbourn, I did my best to keep occupied and not to think about Fanny. I thought that going to Pemberley would offer more distractions than my home, but in this I was both right and wrong. There were more people about and many books I had not read, which certainly should have provided ample diversion, but seeing my beloved daughter Lizzy just made me think of Fanny.

It is odd, as when Lizzy was still at home I never thought her very much like Fanny. She is my child certainly, with her love for the ridiculous, and she can enjoy a good book most thoroughly, but I had neglected to consider that among our daughters, Lydia and Lizzy were closest to Fanny in appearance (with Lydia the closest match to Fanny's temperament). Now, every time I saw my Lizzy, I also saw my Fanny. There were so many familiar expressions that crossed her face, so many familiar gestures! She was like as to Fanny was when we had only been married a few years! And when I saw her with Mr. Darcy, the evident love between them only reminded me of all I had lost.

Life is like that. You start out gaining things: siblings, friends, knowledge, position, then a spouse and children. But then as you go a bit further along in life you start to lose things: grandparents, parents, siblings, children (though hopefully to marriage and not from death), and then your spouse, your friends, and then finally yourself. I never thought I would outlive Fanny. I never thought to be nearly alone at Longbourn. Although I gained peace and quiet, once I gained it I realized that I did not really want it.

I wish that Lady Catherine was as ridiculous as I anticipated, that Mr. Collins was as pompous and servile as I remembered, but neither was as I expected, neither provided the diversion I had hoped to gain. Lady Catherine, although she was arrayed in expensive fabrics and had an imposing and large presence (and was indeed taller than me), was oddly quiet. She listened and watched, then offered an insightful comment, something that made clear what was opaque.

Objectively, I thought her handsome and intriguing, but these thoughts had no emotions connected to them. I felt fuzzy and numb, as if I were looking through everything with a thick haze of smoke and could not really care about anything. She looked at me with her knowing eyes, the eyes of someone who has lost far more than I. She tried to show me compassion, asking me about Mrs. Bennet, telling me about the loss of her daughter. I think she thought we might be of comfort to one another, but I did not want to grieve, I wanted to be distracted instead.

I found myself rather useless at Pemberley. At least at Longbourn, there were tenants with concerns, land to be managed, advice sought from me. But Pemberley makes Longbourn seem just a small pile of mud. Mr. Darcy has no use for my advice; he has been managing his estate for enough years. If there was a child, perhaps I could read to him, tell him stories, be a doting grandfather, but after this much time I am not sure if one will ever arrive.

I spent a great deal of time in the Pemberley library and soon found that it was a favorite haunt of Lady Catherine, too. My favorite spot was on a grey sofa to the right of the fire. She favored a wing-back chair with a rich gold design of fleur-de-lis to the left of the fireplace. There was a large Persian throw rug on the wooden floor beneath our feet. Our seats were close enough that we could talk, but we were typically silent.

We were alone in the library one day (as we often were, no one worries about the propriety of a single woman and a single man being left alone when they are of our age), when I remembered that I had made no progress in trying to determine what was amiss and preventing my daughter from becoming with child. I fought my way through the thick layer of despair that prevented me from taking an interest in the world beyond my current book and asked, "Lady Catherine, do you not think it odd that Mrs. Darcy has not given her husband a child? Mrs. Bennet often talked about it. She was prolific in giving me children and she thought all her daughters would do likewise, so as to breeding ability I doubt anything is amiss with my daughter, but I know far less about the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams."

"Mr. Bennet, it is odd. I have reflected upon the matter many a time myself. You see, if Darcy had married my Anne, I would have given them most vociferous instruction on how to go about the matter, I take my responsibilities very seriously and the Collinses' marital felicity, I credit, is largely the result of the prodigious care I took with instructing Mr. and Mrs. Collins before their wedding night. Did you know that even now, Mrs. Collins is expecting her third child?"

I responded, "I am sure that Mrs. Bennet gave my daughter good instruction, but Mrs. Bennet worried that perhaps if Elizabeth did not like the marital bed, that her husband might not visit her often. Having seen them together, I doubt not that they frequently engage in the appropriate activities, so I am sure I do not know what could be the matter. Although I am an interested party, hoping for grandchildren, I hardly see how I can inquire as to whether all is as it should be."

"Will you trust me to look into the matter further, and if needed speak with your daughter?"

I nodded my head, "I doubt my permission is needed for you to extend your care to them, but I give it. Although undoubtedly I have no right to direct any of my daughter's affairs as she is now married and her care lies with Mr. Darcy."

"That may be true," she inclined her head regally, "but you need a mother's interference now, and I shall be as a mother to her if need be."

That was all we said about the matter, before we both returned to our books. In the weeks that followed, we never spoke of the topic again.

After perhaps a month at Pemberley, I decided to spend some time residing with the Bingleys. They were frequent visitors at Pemberley, but were eager for me to spend time with them. Jane went so far as to tell me, "Charles and I have discussed the matter, and if you do not want to return to Longbourn, you are welcome to make a home here, with us." I decided I should at least visit.

I suppose it was pleasant enough, but they were always so agreeable that I found myself becoming bored and when bored my mind reverted to thinking about my life and how there is nothing much to look forward to ever again. When I am bored at home, I can always choose the company of books, but neither of the Bingleys have much use for books so besides the volumes I had borrowed from Pemberley which I rapidly devoured, there was nothing much to do. Their daughter was placid and pleasant, she always napped when she should and she had already mastered using a chamber pot; undoubtedly in perhaps sixteen years she will make some man an agreeable, biddable bride, or bore him to tears. Yes, I did do some riding with Bingley and we shot some birds, but how much riding and shooting of birds should one man be expected to do?

Luckily for the Bingleys I was apparently incorrect that their servants would take advantage of their good nature. Their housekeeper is no schemer, and the servants seem to all be content with the situation. I am guessing that any troublemakers departed forthwith to seek a place with some adventure. I almost wished Miss Bingley was in residence (apparently she lives in London with the Hursts, having no use for country living), for she would at least bring some diversion with her resentments.

After about a fortnight I returned to Pemberley. Perhaps I should have returned to Longbourn and collected Mary from the Phillipses, but the last letter I had from them enlightened me that she did not need me. Mr. Phillips wrote:

_You must be eager for news of your daughter Mary. She is doing well as seems to enjoy living with us. My wife frequently invites our law clerk, Mr. Stew, to eat with us and Mary grows increasingly comfortable in his company. Mrs. Phillips thinks that there is something there and that Mary welcomes his company. I hope you would not oppose a possible match between them. While it would be the least advantageous of your daughters' marriages, being that he is the third son of a rector, he is a good man who would treat her well. As we have no children, I would be disposed to train him up to succeed to the legal practice if it will thereby benefit our niece, much as Mr. Gardiner did for me when I proposed to marry his daughter, those many years ago. Please advise me, so I will know how to proceed._

I wrote and gave Mr. Phillips my permission to act in the manner which would most forward my daughter's happiness. After all, whom was I to oppose such a match when I married the daughter of an attorney? I wished Mary happy, rather than tied down in feeling a sense of obligation to remain with her father.

But after I wrote that letter, I wondered why I was still alive. No one needed me anymore; they have all moved on. But then I remembered that I had come to Pemberley to see about making sure my daughter and son would beget the child Fanny wanted for them. But this was not an easy matter to address and I thought that because I had not ever gotten a report from Lady Catherine that either my daughter would not talk to her or there was nothing amiss from Lizzy's perspective.

That would leave me as needing to address the matter with Mr Darcy, which I cannot imagine doing. Mr. Darcy seems to be a most private person, not the sort of person that would welcome any sort of conversation about his possible failings. The last thing I imagine he wants is to talk to me about such a topic. How ludicrous to imagine asking Mr. Darcy, "Pardon me? I cannot help but notice that you have not yet made my daughter increase. Can you tell me, are you sure you are engaging in intercourse correctly and at a sufficient frequency so as to impregnate my daughter? I can advise you as to what worked for my wife and me."

Oddly enough, though, eventually it was Lady Catherine that brought up just such a topic with me. We were alone in the library one day, me on my grey sofa with a book open on my lap that I was not really reading, while she reclined in her wing-back chair rather nearer to the fire, with her own volume open in her lap, when she closed her book with a bang (which garnered my attention), rapidly stood up (she is spry for her likely age, which must be similar to my own) and walked to my side.

Naturally, I stood up and looked slightly up to meet her eyes, most curious as to what she might be about (it had penetrated through the ever present fog of my misery). She then addressed me most decidedly. She told me, "Before you left to stay with the Bingleys, do you recall how we discussed whether there was anything amiss with my nephew and your daughter, as there is as of yet no issue from that marriage?"

I nodded.

"Well Mrs. Collins has discussed the matter with your daughter, Mrs. Darcy came to her for advice for she sorely feels the lack of a child, and there is certainly enough activity; from what she gathered it happens most every night, if not more than once."

I found myself blushing. I did not want to think about what my daughter and her husband were up to. Certainly it is a normal aspect of married life but not one that I wanted to reflect upon.

Lady Catherine continued, "I have, therefore, been trying to determine if there may be some other force at work, and have been reading all that I can, but I have found nothing useful. I thought, perhaps, you might have ideas for other avenues of investigation."

I shook my head in negation. "If their marital congress is more than ample, I know not what might be wrong. I shall have to consider the matter further."

She laid her hand upon my arm and squeezed my arm. "I will continue to try to discover the cause of the problem, you will not be left alone in this."

I placed a hand atop her own on my arm. "I thank you, Lady Catherine. I appreciate your efforts in service to my dearly departed wife."

That night when I was abed, I reflected on our talk and tried to think of anything I had heard of that might solve the mystery. Before I went to sleep I prayed, "Dear Lord, please give me the answer so that I may help my daughter and son." But in the morning when I awoke, I had no more clarity than the night before.


	14. Chapter 14

**After this chapter, there is only one chapter to go (which is already half written).**

**Chapter 14: Mr. Collin's POV: I Never Expected to Be His Confidant**

For the past few years, Mr. Darcy had occasionally been coming to the vicarage to talk with me, though not generally to my home proper. Instead, when the weather is fine he comes to speak with me in my garden as I work.

The first time Mr. Darcy approached me there, I thought it was merely that he had spotted me hoeing and decided that as my patron and neighbor that he ought to come and exchange some pleasantries with me. He dismounted from his mount and tied him to my gate before striding in. I paused in my hoeing to see what he would do.

As always, he cut an impressive figure. His coat and waistcoat were fine. His cravat was immaculate and his beaver was perched just so. Even his riding pants were cut quite tight in a manner that most men could not pull off, because most other men were not so fit. I knew I was not and would never be.

I was not so well arrayed and was wearing my oldest clothes. I had removed my coat as the morning warmed and loosened my cravat. The hat upon my head shaded me, but also made me hotter. I knew my forehead was dotted with beads of sweat, my armpits were damp, and a few trickles of perspiration had run down my back between my shoulder blades. I had a good deal of weeding left to go and then I would need to wash up before Charlotte would let me near herself or the children.

"Hello Mr. Collins," he greeted me. "Do you not receive enough from my patronage and tithes, and renting out the farming of the glebe, that you need to grow your own food?"

I was not sure if it was a serious question, but I decided to respond as if it were so. "No, you are plenty generous as are my parishioners, and I make a good living from renting out the land, but I like to tend living things and to eat food grown by my hands."

Mr. Darcy asked, "Would you show me around your garden?" I did so gladly. I felt more comfortable among my plants than elsewhere and was able to converse with him without sprinkling in all the complements I do when nervous and feeling awkward. I do remember thanking him for condescending to speak with me and for taking the time to see my garden.

I also showed him the fruit trees I was cultivating; I was determined to have an orchard of which my Grandmama would have been proud. I felt a closeness to her when working my orchard, a security in having a full root cellar. But I told Mr. Darcy nothing of this part of my motivation. The trees were still small and a harvest was still a couple of years away, but I thought the trees were growing quite well and we discussed the advantages of grafting on some other varieties of apple. I do not think we talked about anything but growing things and then he left.

A few months later when Mr. Darcy was riding nearby (this was not unusual, I often saw him from a distance as I gardened), he again approached. Again, I showed him my garden and he took an interest in my fall crops. I recall I had some fine pumpkins growing and was already anticipating pumpkin soups and was excited for my wife and cook to try a recipe for pumpkin pie found a book we had lately acquired, called _American Cookery._

The next year Mr. Darcy approached when I had Cathy with me. She often came out when I was gardening, now that she was closer to four than three years of age but did not usually stay for more than a few minutes as her attention at that age was not overly long. I remember I was sowing peas, or rather I was letting Cathy do so. She dropped each dried pea and I covered it up. He greeted us, Cathy curtsied, and then she insisted, "Papa, Papa, you need to help!"

When I hesitated, explaining, "We have a guest and we must treat Mr. Darcy with the utmost respect," Cathy didn't listen.

She grabbed my hand, tugged, and said, "Papa, pwease, pwease, my peas is gettin' cold."

This left me in the dubious position of explaining to Mr. Darcy, "At first Cathy did not want to put the peas in the ground. She told me they would be lonely in the dark, but I told her that they were sleeping and the dirt would be like their blanket, covering them up. Then, later, with water and sun, they would wake up and grow."

"Well, do not delay on my account." He gave an amused grin and the declared, "Hurry up, man. Those peas are getting cold and it is unconscionable to make them and Miss Collins wait!"

"Tank you Misser Darcy!" She told him, her eyes shining, and I quickly resuming tucking the peas in, my gloves becoming damp and dark from the soil.

He watched for a while as Cathy put each pea down and I covered it up. She was chattering about everything and nothing with both me and Mr. Darcy as young children do, but he left it mostly to me to answer. I hoped it would not reflect poorly upon me that she was heard and not just seen, but I was determined to give her a joyful childhood and it was hard to deny her anything. And, so, I did my best to answer her questions, things like, "Where do de squirrels sweep?" Although of course her words were still ill-formed, I almost always knew what Cathy meant.

However, in consequence, I am afraid I did not give my guest the attention his rank and status as my patron that he deserved. Yet rather than seeming to be resentful, Mr. Darcy only seemed diverted by observing my interactions with my child. I do think my Cathy is a rather winsome child but quite ordinary, though she does possess fine blonde hair and blue eyes, the best of my wife, so that may have predisposed him to think more kindly on my actions.

As time went on, Mr. Darcy's visage began to change. Gradually his expression transformed from amused to wistful. After Cathy finished her row and scampered inside, Mr. Darcy told me, "You are good with her; you make a fine father." I rather thought from his expression that he would wish to be a father, too, but naturally said nothing (both Mrs. Collins and Lady Catherine have trained me well). I thanked him and we proceeded to discuss the garden.

Mr. Darcy visited again in the summer and stayed long enough that Mrs. Collins came out with Billy on her hip, and Cathy right behind. She offered, "Mr. Darcy, will you not come in out of the sun and have some chilled wine?" We had taken to keeping some wine in our ice house, but we rarely brought it out; usually it was reserved for Lady Catherine. We had an ice house at Hunsford, but had no money for ice after the first portion Lady Catherine gifted us melted (likely she would have procured us more if we had asked, but I hated to ask her for more, when she had supplied me with the living and all of her care). However, at Pemberley we had an ice house that Mr. Darcy had regularly supplied with ice from the far north. The ice was kept well insulated with straw, but even so it was most important to open it as little as possible to protect the ice.

I thought for a moment that he would accept, but while he was considering, Billy wiggled to get down and then ran over to me, arms stretched up. "Up, up, fy, fy."

I pulled my gardening gloves off and glanced down at my shirt and shirt sleeves. They were not so very dirty, so Charlotte was unlikely to mind. As commanded, I swept him up, his little face beaming. I tossed him in the air and caught him, counting each time he soared, "One, two, three, four, five." I enjoyed seeing his grin, the way being tossed up in the air made his brown hair flutter, but it was quite an effort to do it so many times in rapid succession. So upon the count of five, I made to put him down.

He commanded, "More, more, more fy."

"Later, Billy, Papa's arms are tired. It is hard work to make you fly and we have a guest." He was still begging when my wife spoke.

"Will you come in?" Charlotte asked Mr. Darcy again. "We see Mrs. Darcy regularly, but have been waiting to entertain you."

He took in her turgid belly and said, "I could not possibly, Mrs. Collins, but thank you kindly for the invitation."

Cathy said, "Pwease!" but Mr. Darcy would not be moved. As he turned away, I saw that wistful expression on Mr. Darcy's face once more.

I resumed my gardening and later after I came inside and had washed and changed, I sat beside Charlotte on our sofa. She looked sleepy and I asked, "Should you like to nap?"

She nodded and as I escorted her to our room, she asked, "Why would Mr. Darcy not stay, I wonder. I had thought he was liking you better now."

"I think he is, too, but perhaps he does not want to impose on my wife who is most obviously with child."

I paused, seeing a ripple across her belly as our son or daughter moved. I lay a hand across her belly and asked, "What do you think _he_ is doing?"

"_She_ is stretching, I would wager."

"More than that," I said, taking up the topic of our previous conversation, "I think Mr. Darcy feels awkward in seeing what we have that he does not."

"Well," Charlotte considered as she sat upon our bed. I removed her house shoes and took a moment to caress her feet and ankles, which had started to swell a bit. "Although I hope for the best, it may be the Darcys will never have children of their own. It is not so unusual. Eliza's own aunt and uncle, the Phillipses, have none."

"Yes, that may be so, but I can't help hoping that something may be done."

Charlotte swiveled, pulling her legs onto the bed and lay down. "It is not from lack of trying. They couple daily. Too, Eliza has told me that the both of them have tried brews from the apothecary, tinctures from the midwife and even a doctor was called in to consult, but none of the treatments have helped."

"I am so very glad to be a father," I told Charlotte, "but I cannot help but be a bit envious if they can couple every day. I remember that before we had children, we had much more time for the feather bed jig." I leaned over and stroked gently up her legs, underneath the skirt of her dress. She gave a gentle sigh of contentment, which then turned into a yawn.

"I am so very tired, William. Between Cathy, Billy, and this little one still forming . . . " she yawned again. "It seems as though all of you need me, but you are more patient than the others when I neglect your needs."

"But they have a nurse, I have no one." I pouted a bit. "I cannot even remember when you were last my strict governess."

"Soon, William, soon," her eyes were drifting closed. "I think you need to fetch me a new switch. Cathy found the old one underneath our bed and was using it to poke Billy, and I think I threw it out."

"Order me to do it."

She forced her eyes open and declared, "Naughty boy, you must go fetch a switch. Think long and hard about the punishment you deserve. I will deal with you later."

"Yes, Governess!"

I was thinking about her promise and visualizing how she would discipline me, which caused a stirring in my breaches, when she ruined it by stepping out of her role. "Now William, let your wife sleep!" she muttered, her eyes already closed in preparation for her nap.

Although I waited eagerly for the evening's pleasures, there were many hours that had to pass, but then Cathy had an ear ache and Billy woke up screaming apparently having a nightmare but had not the words to communicate what was wrong. I held him, rocking and swaying with him for nearly an hour before he fell asleep again.

When I finally returned to our bed, Charlotte was fast asleep and did not rouse when I held her and touched her body. I considered shaking her awake, but it did not seem fair to her. However, it took me hours to fall asleep. I was grumpy in the morning, even more so that my wife did not even seem to remember what she had promised me and then neglected. When two more evenings passed with her falling asleep even before I was abed, I finally saw to my own comfort in our bed while facing away from her. I knew it was wrong, but what else was I to do?

Still, that hardly gave me any relief, for in the morning my little vicar was standing at attention once again. But there was no time to do anything that morning as the children (as was their custom), invaded our bedroom before either of us was ready to get up.

That evening when I brought the matter up again, my wife was abashed and told me, "I am so sorry William, it is not right that I neglect you." She played her role that evening as I desired, but it did not seem like her heart was in it, but still my body did not seem to care. After we played, I tried to see to her pleasure, but she did not seem all that excited about it. Still, I kept trying until she told me, "Tonight is not the night for me but you might as well go ahead."

I accepted my wife's generous offer, though I felt a bit bad about it (though not bad enough about it to turn her down). Sinking into her still felt so good and my member had waited long enough. Afterwards, I thought to myself, that it might be well if after this child Charlotte did not have another for a while. I knew we were to be fruitful and multiple, but would not it be grand if we might have more space between this child and the next? However, what an irony that to have my wife more to myself, I would have to refrain from the activity that I desired to have with her if we had more time for us.

Later in the year, Cathy helped me plant pumpkin seeds which I had saved from the previous year's harvest. Almost every day after they were well established plants she came out to see them. I remember her wonder at the yellow blooms and her delight when (once the pumpkins began to form), we were able to harvest the blossoms to cook and eat them.

Cathy was my inspiration for the second sermon I wrote and gave entirely on my own (the first one had been when we were at Hunsford and concerned the analogy of the church being the bride and Jesus the bridegroom, as inspired by my own recent marriage), my usual practice being that I gave sermons as presented in a sermon book, sometimes almost verbatim, sometimes altered to a fair degree. It was a sermon concerning the glory of God's creation as seen through my daughter's eyes. Of course, though, my daughter was far from perfect and I also saw many of the sins adults are subject to, exist in infants as well, and such frailties convinced me that sin is either innate or begins when one is very young (but I had no wish to make a sermon about that).

As the pumpkins swelled and grew, Cathy began to assign them as gifts for people she knew. There was a pumpkin for her godmother, a pumpkin for her mother, a pumpkin for her nursery maid and pumpkins for other people she knew.

Later, when we were inside with Charlotte, I discussed with Cathy that we should not just give gifts to our friends, but help the poor in our parish also. We had a bounty, more than thirty pumpkins! However, as the previous year we had delighted in pumpkin pie, Charlotte pointed out quite rightly that it might be better to transform some pumpkins into pies as a special treat for them. Oh how Charlotte and our cook worked (despite Charlotte's condition), roasting, mashing and straining the pumpkins, making the filling, forming and rolling out the crusts. We exhausted our supply of eggs and our two cows were milked dry to make the filling. After all the pies were cooked, which itself took the whole of a day, they still needed to be distributed. So, on the following day it was Cathy and I who delivered them as Charlotte was in her confinement. I reaped much good will from so many families, although my part was far smaller than that of my wife and household.

When we harvested the pumpkins for those that lived at Pemberley, Cathy of course was eager to deliver them, too, and so it was that I found myself taking six pumpkins, crated in the carriage with us, one each for Lady Catherine, Mrs. Reynolds, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy and Mr. Bennet.

I was surprised that Cathy wanted to give one to Mr. Bennet, but she told me, looking at me as if I was foolish, "Misser Bennet is Wady Cat-Cat's friend. He needs a pumpikin, too."

I told her, "He is also Mrs. Darcy's father, and that is a good reason to give him a pumpkin as well."

As odd as it might seem, I think everyone that received Cathy's gift was enchanted. Cathy insisted that she bring everyone their pumpkins. The pumpkins or pumpions as the older generation called them (I, myself, preferred the American word), were not so very big but certainly bigger and heavier than a child of her age could carry for more than a few moments. Therefore, we had the Darcy footmen carry the filled crate inside, to a location just outside the sitting room in which they received visitors and then I carried each pumpkin, one by one into the sitting room, following Cathy to the designated recipient for each. I then placed the designated pumpkin in Cathy's waiting hands so that she could then hold it out to each recipient.

As always, Lady Catherine was dressed very fine, her silver hair arranged just so, just as I had always seen it, save for two times when it was in a state of disarray. She received the first pumpkin, but then to my surprise, Mr. Bennet had the next one. But perhaps that was not so odd, as he was in the chair just beside Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds most graciously received theirs, but excused themselves after heaping much praise upon Cathy.

Miss Darcy made much of Cathy and asked, "With your permission, Mr. Collins, may I take Miss Cathy to play in the nursery? Although we have no use for it, it is kept quite clean and I still have dolls in there. She may pick one as a gift and perhaps spend a bit of time trying out Fitz's old rocking horse."

"That is quite all right," I agreed, "but only for a few minutes. Mrs. Collins is expecting us home soon. Cathy needs to try to nap (although she misses almost half these days). I would let her stay longer and skip it today, but Billy will not go to sleep at all if she is gone." Then I was left with Mrs. Darcy, Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet, captive until my daughter should return.

Lady Catherine spoke on and on, bragging to Mr. Bennet,"You have many lovely daughters, Mr. Bennet, but look at how kind and generous is my dear godchild! To give us each pumpions!"

He replied gruffly, "Yes, Miss Collins is most generous for a child of her age, though of course she was gifting away with her father's crop (it is always easier to be generous with someone else's things). I say this to take nothing away from her, but I must also praise my own daughters. How generous the Bingleys were to offer me a home, and how generous to have the Darcys been to keep me, to just accept that I now live here."

"So you plan to stay?" Lady Catherine asked. She leaned toward him and seemed to be waiting with baited breath for his answer.

"Yes," Mr. Bennet nodded for emphasis, "I see no need to go, if you will have me," he directed those words to his daughter, adding, "I know I never asked. My daughters all have husbands now so there is no one to go home to."

"Really, Papa?" I felt I was observing an intimate family moment as Mrs. Darcy got up from her seat across from him and then reached one hand toward her father and squeezed his arm, before sitting back down beside him. I wondered if my daughter and I were not in attendance whether she would have given her father a hug.

I felt compelled to ask, "But what about Longbourn?" After I asked, I wished to take it back. I had no right to decide how the estate I had a mere expectation in was to be managed. My dear Charlotte had told me a couple of years into our marriage that when I stayed with the Bennets and admired their house, that Mrs. Bennet felt I was considering it as my own, and it was upsetting to her. I had no intention to distress her, had only meant to compliment her.

Fortunately, Mr. Bennet seemed to take no offense. "My brother Phillips is managing what must be done. When the time comes it will be waiting for you. You might even occupy it now, if you are so inclined; you might rent it and pay me a portion of the return. Undoubtedly the fields will produce more when more actively overseen."

I was not expecting such an offer. Technically I might hire a curate to perform my duties, as I had at Hunsford (although I traveled there twice a year to oversee him and to make sure those under my official care were well-served and to meet with the new master of Rosings, a self effacing humble man who had disposed of many of the more ornate furnishings at Rosings).

"Mr. Collins, would you go?" Lady Catherine seemed a bit distressed at this thought, but a little part of me thought about how she was more glad about Mr. Bennet staying then about the possibility that I and my family would leave.

"I do not know," I replied, realizing just then that I did not know. "I suppose I should consider it," but for some reason the prospect did not make me happy.

As I thought further about it while waiting for Miss Darcy to come back with Cathy, I noticed that the conversation taking place in front of me was mostly between Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet.

I discussed the matter with Charlotte that afternoon. "I do not know what is wrong with me, I should want to take over Longbourn. I should want for the sake of you and the children for us to be settled near your family, but I like being here. I cannot but think that perhaps Mr. Bennet's sudden generosity is his way of apologizing for not doing more for me when I was a child, or perhaps tending to Longbourn just seems a burden to him now." I then related the opportunity he had to save me from being raised by my father and his decision to do nothing (though upon questioning, I grudgingly admitted that he made sure I received my education). As always, Charlotte was the voice of rationality.

"I can understand you faulting Mr. Bennet, William, for not doing more for you when you were a child. He should have done more, it is true. But, truly, it is a huge responsibility to bring up any child, and much more difficult to bring up another man's child. Is it not likely that your father would have thought better of the arrangement and then retrieved you? Too, I think Mrs. Bennet would have given Mr. Bennet a very hard time if he came back with you. To have the heir of Longbourn be in her midst, but not be her son, well she could be petty. All of us have been guilty of acting in our own self-interest instead of doing what we could to benefit others."

"So, should you like to live at Longbourn?"

"It was my mother's delight to lord it over Mrs. Bennet that I would be Mistress of Longbourn after her, and indeed from the frequent intercourse between our two families I know Longbourn well, but I like the life we have now. I think I, too, would rather stay here. I should not like to leave Eliza or Lady Catherine. How well would Lady Catherine cope without her Godchildren?"

"Very well indeed, I expect," I told Charlotte, "should the Darcys have children. She could play the dutiful grandmother in role if not in fact, as she would only be the great aunt. And as Cathy pointed out, she would have her friend, Mr. Bennet."

At my declaration, Charlotte got a thoughtful look. "I do not know that the Darcys shall ever have children, but I cannot help but think that there is something more between Mr. Bennet and Lady Catherine than mere friendship. Have you not seen that they usually sit beside one another in the Darcy pew? Have you not seen how lively their conversations are? It reminds me of the interactions between Eliza and Mr. Darcy at Hunsford, except there is mutual admiration on both sides and less antagonism."

"I certainly saw today that they were seated beside each other, although not on the same sofa; they were certainly lively. But I am not sure that either look at the other with a romantic eye. And as you are doubtless aware, Lady Catherine has always cared for the distinctions of rank. Mr. Bennet is no one to Mr. de Bourgh. She would likely find it to be a degradation should he wish to marry her."

"Maybe you are right," Charlotte allowed, "but we shall see. Perhaps a wager is in order?"

"Well, what shall the stakes be?" I asked, intrigued.

"If in these next two years they do not become engaged, well then I will owe you a favor in the bedroom. Whatever you shall desire!" She waggled her eyebrows and licked her lips suggestively.

"That is much too long to wait to collect," I told her, "but I shall promise the same to you, should you prevail."

We amused ourselves then by discussing the possible favors we might collect, and they got more and more outlandish as the discussion carried on. I believe my final proposal was, "I could bathe you and act as your lady's maid, even washing your body," I may have leered at her a bit then, imagining her in a tub filled with sudsy water, her bushel bubby bouncing in the water, "even washing your hair, and afterwards I would lotion your body, rub your back and feet. Then I would kiss you everywhere." I licked my lips, trying to entice her.

She laughed at my suggestion. "That sounds like more of a treat for you than for me. You like to serve me."

"That is true, but what requirement is there that in gaining your reward I should not enjoy myself, also?"

Charlotte's final suggestion for what I might want, was much more outlandish than anything I could have thought of on my own. She began with a most reasonable suggestion, "Perhaps, William, you might be amused if I dismissed the servants for the day, all but the children's nurse who would take them to visit Miss Darcy. I imagine we could persuade her to take them on a long picnic, keep them away from us for several hours."

"That seems as much a treat for you as for me."

"Ah, but the next part is key. I think that rather than playing the governess to the naughty boy, that perhaps I should be Lady Catherine and you could be my most devoted body servant. I am picturing servants of old who attended to anything at all. I think I could be as imperious as she used to be and command my Mr. Collins to do most anything. I can picture it now, I would need to secure one of her old gowns (Dawson would help me, I think), and procure a wig to match her silver locks." She cleared her throat and then in her best Lady Catherine impersonation said, "Mr. Collins, you must attend me at once. I need someone to scratch my arse!" Then she burst out laughing.

I was not amused. I told her, "That is not a good joke. Lady Catherine has been very kind to us both. And in fact, if you wanted to imitate her hair, why you should just borrow it." When I realized what I had said, I wanted to clamp my hands across my mouth, but it was too late. I tried to look nonchalant. Perhaps she had not understood the meaning of what I said.

That was too much to hope for, however, as Charlotte does not lack in cleverness. Her eyes went wide and she asked, "Borrow it? Her hair is a wig?"

"Oh dear." I neither confirmed, nor denied.

Her blue eyes burned with curiosity, but she thought for a moment before stating. "If it was said in the order of a confession to a priest, I will ask no more about it. But, if it was not, I beg of you husband, tell me of it!"

I hesitated a moment before deciding that I would indeed share it with her.

"It was not so much a confession as it was that I noticed something was amiss, but I was not sure what it was. I kept looking at her, until she finally said with great exasperation, 'Well, what is it?' With the utmost politeness I said, 'Lady Catherine, there is something different about your hair today.' She went over to a looking glass, put her hands upon her head and turned her hair, because in fact it was lopsided. She must have seen my surprise because she declared, 'Mr. Collins I swear you to secrecy about this. If anyone ever asks, yes that is my own hair. It is not a lie. It is human hair and I bought it so it belongs to me.' I feel horrible about breaking her confidence, so please, please, whatever you do, tell no one else about it."

"Hmm," Charlotte said, considering, "I should not wish to do anything to harm Lady Catherine, but I would so like to discuss this with Eliza! Perhaps, just perhaps, that is what I shall ask of you if I win our wager."

I did not like the way our discussion had turned out, but at least she was not still on the topic of pretending to be Lady Catherine for me. Or at least that was what I thought before she told me, "Now, in all seriousness, I am not making a joke, would you like me to pretend to be Lady Catherine."

"No, I would not." She waited and I considered whether I should tell her more.

Perhaps Charlotte sensed the source of my hesitation because she added, "I will not think less of you. When we were engaged and when I saw Lady Catherine for the first time in Kent, in all your praise of her I had a thought or two that you loved her more than you would ever love me, and that you would have served her in all things, even to the point of satisfying _those_ sorts of needs, and you would do it gladly, had she but asked."

I considered how I had shared almost everything else with Charlotte before then. I had told her of how my father treated me, about all my insecurities. Could I not now truly trust her, the woman who had married me, who had come to love me, who had borne me two children and was carrying my third? Finally I told her, "There was a time when I would have done anything Lady Catherine asked without hesitation. I will even admit that I contemplated what it might be like to _know_ her, but I never did anything improper in my conduct toward her. Too, there was never a hint from her that she might have any interest in me in such a capacity. I certainly do not think about her like that now, how could I have eyes for anyone but you." I looked my dear wife in the eyes, begging her to understand.

Charlotte nodded, "All right, I understand. Should you win, I will let you come up with what you would like me to do for you."

Mr. Darcy did not come to talk to me in my garden again until after my third child was born, my darling little Anne. On this occasion, I was just beginning to work the ground for spring, which was still a while away. Even with the help we had, often it was my job to entertain my older children, so when he stopped to see me, I had put Cathy and Billy to the task of picking up sticks and other bits of debris which had ended up in my garden after it froze. They were not very diligent in this task and were often distracted by trying to mime sword fighting with the longer sticks. Fortunately, Cathy seemed to understand that her brother, who was just barely two, needed her to be gentle and might accidentally hurt her if she did not take care. Still, I diligently watched them.

I could not help but see that at least a couple of the sticks they found to play sword fighting with might have made good switches. But alas, perhaps not, as very quickly those broke.

I was so focused on watching them, ready to intervene if anything went awry, that I did not even notice Mr. Darcy walking through my gate, and startled a bit when he said, "Seeing them reminds me of when I used to play with my cousins Richard and Anne."

"Why, hello Mr. Darcy," I quickly greeted him, almost immediately turning back to watch my children with an apologetic, "I am afraid if I do not keep them under close supervision that they will hurt themselves, likely that may happen anyway. Likely their mother would not approve of this activity at all."

Mr. Darcy stood by my side and talked to me as we watched the children. He said, philosophically, "Is that not what fathers are for, to let their children try new things that their mothers would not allow? That is how one grows, becomes more self reliant. They can always take comfort in their mothers if they get hurt."

"Are you talking theoretically or from personal experience?"

"Both, I suppose. I do remember, my father started teaching me to ride far earlier than my mother thought wise. She was very protective of me. I think it is only natural. I had a younger brother that died shortly before father decided I should learn to ride. Then there were no more children until Georgiana to arrived, but she cost my mother her life. My mother was so happy, waiting for my sister. That is how I remember her best, in joyful expectation for the child who was to come, already giving me instructions about how to be a good brother. But perhaps my mother was right, about riding at least. That first year I fell off my horse perhaps a dozen times. It was only luck that I did not break an arm or leg."

This was the most personal exchange I had ever had with Mr. Darcy. I responded, "I would not know about mothers being protective or fathers letting their children try new things from my upbringing. I never knew my mother. My father was not pleased with me most of the time." An involuntary shudder went through me as I recalled how much I had feared him. "But my grandmother was a lovely lady. She raised me until she died. She taught me all she could. If not for her, I would have never learned to read or figure. We grew our own food, me and her together. She is why I like to garden."

"She sounds like the kind of grandmother any child would want," he responded. "Perhaps it is academic, but it saddens me that if Mrs. Darcy and I should have children, they would have no grandmothers and only one grandfather."

"That is sad, it is true, but there are many who would love them. Lady Catherine would certainly delight in being as like a grandmother to them as she could; she has been the best godmother my children could have. They will gain a dedicated aunt in Miss Darcy, Mrs. Bingley and in Mrs. Darcy's other sisters. I imagine Mrs. Reynolds would also dote upon them."

"I do not know why I even worry about such things, Mr. Collins." He dropped his voice lower. "I fear . . ." now there was a tremble in his voice, a catch, "that Mrs. Darcy is barren."

I resolutely continued to stare ahead. I was most certain that Mr. Darcy preferred for me not to see his face when he said those words. "I hope that is not the case," I told him.

"We have tried everything we can think of," Mr. Darcy continued. "The apothecary suggested draughts to strengthen my essence and to make her more receptive to it. We took these for several months, but other than nausea, they had no effect. Mrs. Darcy saw the midwife and took her tinctures and thought they were less offensive, so took them for more than a year. The barber surgeon suggested bleeding to adjust Mrs. Darcy's humors, but when she started fainting, I knew that was not the way. The physician recommended adjusting her womb, but when I understood he wished for his assistant to perform internal manipulations, though she was willing, I refused. I cannot help but feel we are missing something. I have even tried praying to the Lord above, but if he has answered, his answer has been, 'No.' I have no faith that your prayers might be more effective, but if you could offer some, you would have my gratitude."

"I would be more than willing," I told him, "and I will pray right now, but I will not close my eyes as I must keep my children in view."

Not waiting for his permission, I placed my hand upon his shoulder and began. "Oh God in heaven, we beseech you to look with favor upon your servants the Darcys. They long for a child. We know you have the power to open wombs, to make even elderly woman become with child and so we know this is not beyond your power. If there be earthly means to fix whatever is amiss, we pray that you would bring those resources to them. If they are missing vital information, help them learn of it. If I or any other may aid them in any way, please tell us how. But if their childlessness state be your will, please give them comfort, help them to accept it and find fulfillment in this state. Give them strength, peace and comfort. We ask all this in Your holy name. Amen." I gave his shoulder a short squeeze and then released it.

"I thank you," Darcy whispered. There were tears in his voice but I knew not if any were rolling down his face, I did not look. A few moments later I heard him blow his nose. And then without saying anything, he was gone.

I offered up many prayers in the days and weeks that followed. I found myself thinking of Mr. Darcy's situation again and again. Perhaps this is why I began taking note of male creatures anatomy, their dangling members and thingamabobs. I found myself contemplating the differences between males and females, how with my wife, everything she needs to bear a child is tucked inside, while all of my parts hang down. I also found myself thinking of Mr. Darcy's breeches again and again. I was not sure why all these things were on my mind, what thread connected it all.

Then one morning in April it occurred to me. I sat up in bed and declared to my wife, "His breeches are too tight!"

"What?"

"Mr. Darcy's breeches are too tight. I think, call it instinct or intuition, but I think this is the cause of their difficulties. Consider it, my cods hang away from my body. The same is true of all men, of the beasts that are most like us, horses, cows and such. It must be by design. Do you not see, his breeches are so tight it is almost as if his bits are being forced back into his body. Perhaps, just perhaps, this makes them not work right."

Charlotte thought for a moment and then said, "William, I think you may be correct! You must go see Mr. Darcy straight away, as soon as it is late enough for a visit."

And see him I did. I explained my thoughts on the matter as cogently as I knew how. Mr. Darcy's eyes grew wide as he listened and when I fell silent he said, "If this is true, how much grief we might have been spared, if only I had not tried to look so fashionable. These tight breeches are quite uncomfortable, you know, but I thought my wife liked me in them and I wanted her to be pleased."

After that day, Mr. Darcy became much less fashionable below his waist and began sporting breeches with lots of extra space around his family jewels. When other people asked him about the change, he simply answered, "It is to address health concerns."

About four months later, Mr. Darcy came to see me as I was harvesting my first crop of apples, with help from Cathy and Billy (I passed apples down to them from my ladder and they placed them in the basket). I had waited many years to see my fruit trees bear fruit and it was glorious indeed.

When Mr. Darcy greeted me, I climbed down. He offered me a smile of heartfelt delight and told me, "It seems to have worked! If all goes well, we will have an addition by spring."

I found myself caught in a hug. He whispered, "I owe much to you."

When Mr. Darcy let me free I told him, "You owe me nothing. I am so very pleased for you both. May I tell Mrs. Collins or does Mrs. Darcy wish to tell her, herself?"

He gestured to the vicarage, "She is in there now." Then I observed that one of the Darcy carriages was outside my gate.

That evening, Charlotte and I spent much time discussing this news while I held Anne. She had just finished nursing at my wife's breast and I could not understand why she was not already asleep. Having just learned to crawl, she should have been exhausted.

At one point there was a lull in our conversation and Charlotte after some time said, "I may have some news. I suspect I am with child again myself." She gave a watery smile and then she burst into tears. "I do not understand it, I have been neglecting you horribly, so how could it happen so soon?"

"Please do not cry, I will hire you more help. Four in so few years is quite an accomplishment. Do you not see how much we have been blessed?"

"I would have preferred to be blessed at a slower rate." She had stopped crying by now. "I love my children of course, but my emotions seem to be ever changing. My mother told me that nursing my children myself would help delay me becoming with child again, but it seems to not be working."

"Perhaps," I told her, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, "after this one I should start wearing tight breeches."

"That is brilliant, William!" She gave a happy smile. I wondered, what I had just agreed to. I had always thought Mr. Darcy's breeches looked uncomfortable and he had admitted as much. But then I reflected, I should not dare to say anything about bodily discomfort to the woman who bore my children.

"Then that is what I will do." I told her, knowing it was only right to do whatever my beloved wife might require of me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, this isn't the last chapter as I have decided to break this chapter into two so that you might get the first half sooner****. **

**Chapter 15: Lady Catherine's POV: From Friends to Something More**

One warm spring day I spent a happy afternoon picnicking beside the shore of Pemberley's spring with the Darcys, the Collins, the Bingleys, the Gardiners and Mr. Bennet. Pemberley was awash in children: there was my darling great niece, Miss Jane Elizabeth Darcy (who we all called Janey); my dear four God children (Cathy, Billy, Anne, and Walt Collins); the two Bingley children (Fran, who was named for her Grandmother Francis "Fanny" Bennet, and Charlie, who was named for his father); and the five Gardiner children (Emma, Anna, Eddie, Jack, and Maria). Nominally, we had all gathered to celebrate the birthday of Janey, who had just turned two.

The Gardiners had arrived about a fortnight earlier and I had been surprised at how genteel they were, though he was in trade. They were people of fashion and had thoughtful opinions, and it had been pleasant to have new people with which to talk. I liked seeing how happy their presence made the Darcys.

The Gardiners' five children were a credit to them. The elder daughters had excellent manners and deportment and played the harp marvelously well. Their sons acted with a maturity past their years. Their youngest daughter, who was much younger than the others, always said please and thank you, and was generous with toys. I had seen less of Maria than her elder siblings, as she was typically in the nursery at Pemberley or the nursery at the vicarage, but adjudged her to be most suitable playmate for my great niece and God children.

During the picnic, the younger children ate quickly so that they could play, while the elders and the rest of us remained to talk. It was clear to me that although the Masters Gardiner, Eddie and Jack, with their proper clothes were having polite conversation with Mr. Bennet, they longed to be more active. They looked with longing at the younger children who were playing at sword fighting using sticks.

Although I tried to attend to the conversation, I was more focused on watching the children play. Their nurses were close at hand to intervene, but it seemed unneeded as of yet. The children were playing war, with Cathy, Billy, Annie and Janey pretending to be the French, while Charlie, Maria and Walt played the English. There was an argument early on as Fran was supposed be on her brother's side. I heard Charlie pleading with her, "Fran, we need four to four, not four to thwee. Ith not fair if yous not by my thide."

Fran replied, "I will not fight. I am a lady and ladies do not fight with sticks."

"They ith not thicks but thwords! We ith battling and I not gonna looth to de French," Charlie insisted, getting frustrated. Finally he gave up, shaking his head and saying, "Dumb thithter; I need a brother."

Fran returned to the adults and for a time sat by her mother's side, but by and by decided to join the play, not as a swordsman, but as a nurse. Whenever one of the children fell down and pretended to be dead or injured, she ran to their side and pretended to tend their wounds. Somehow this always resulted in them reviving and rejoining the fray. I was pleased to see that while the older of the playing children were vigorous in their sword fighting with one another, they were far more gentle with the youngest children, Janey and Walt, even when they were struck by them.

Eventually Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner took pity on Eddie and Jack, revealing they had fishing gear and they and all the men, including Mr. Bennet, went off to fish. Mr. Bennet turned to look at me as he left, asking all of us (but mostly me I felt), "Would any of you ladies wish to try fishing?"

While I might have been tempted if it would have been me and Mr. Bennet alone, I had no wish to be the only rose among the thorns. I answered for myself, "I would rather sit here with such nice company."

The other women similarly declined, but when Mr. Gardiner specifically extended the invitation to his daughters, saying, "Surely you would like to join us, Emma and Anna!" they rose with alacrity and happy smiles to join their father. It seemed that they had fished before.

I heard Emma challenge her brothers, "I imagine Anna and I can catch more fish than the two of you."

After they departed, soon the talk turned to babies and how to procure or delay them. Mrs. Darcy was once again in the family way, expecting another little one in late summer. Although Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Collins knew the whole story about Mr. Darcy's breeches, Mrs. Darcy told the story again to Mrs. Gardiner, explaining at the end, "And imagine, once he began wearing looser breeches, why Janey and this new little one followed right away." Mrs. Darcy rubbed her belly and smiled contentedly.

Mrs. Collins added, "Having already had four children in rapid succession (despite the fact of feeding all of them at my breast which my mother declared would stop me catching quickly), Mr. Collins and I thought that if he began wearing very tight breeches that I might have some relief from being in the family way for a time without having to curtail our activities. While perhaps it gave me a few months delay over my usual fecundity, I cannot recommend it as having much efficacy, as I am expecting again."

This was news to me and apparently everyone else, but once I knew I could see the slight swell that showed that it was true. Many congratulations were shared with her, as were comments of sympathy.

Mrs. Collins told us, "It is quite all right. I am happy enough. Once each child arrives, I love him or her dearly. I have no real cause to complain as we have sufficient room, servants and money to accommodate a dozen. Not that I wish for seven more. It is most fortunate that I did not marry until I was twenty-seven. Just imagine if I had been married more than the past eight years!"

Perhaps forgetting that Miss Darcy was present, Mrs. Gardiner confided, "Mrs. Collins if you are interested, I can inform you of the timing of marital relations that gave me a gap of five years between my youngest son and daughter."

"Is it not a sin to refrain? To deprive your husband?" Mrs. Collins asked.

"Oh believe me, my Edward is not deprived. There are many other things we do."

I felt she was just on the verge of revealing what (and I was certainly intrigued to hear what she might reveal), when Mrs. Darcy said, "Aunt Gardiner, you forget yourself. My unmarried sister is here."

Mrs. Gardiner looked abashed as she spotted Georgiana blushing, but Mrs. Darcy skillfully turned the conversation in another, much less interesting direction. As the other ladies talked, I found myself wondering why Georgiana had not yet had a season in town; she was most definitely of marriageable age. However, I concluded that as of yet she had no true desire to leave her happy home.

Having entirely lost the thread of the conversation, I instead resumed watching the children play. I was enjoying their earnestness as soldiers of warring states until a thought suddenly intruded: _My daughter Anne should be here; her children should be playing with their cousins._ At that thought, I lost all enjoyment in the festivities. I felt superfluous. _Who would care if I were not there? _I excused myself as politely as I could, and told them all, "I am getting tired; I think I will lie down and see if I can nap a bit."

They said all that was appropriate, but as I departed I heard the conversation continue on without me. I did indeed try to sleep, hoping that if I was less tired I might feel better. However, I could not get comfortable. Dawson did her best to help, but while she could attend to my physical needs, she could not soothe my aching heart.

When it was time for dinner, Dawson helped me dress and I went to the salon to, as usual, wait to be escorted into dinner. As was typical, we all gathered there. But on this occasion, rather than Mr. Bennet escorting me in, Darcy did the honors. As I glided in on his arm, he asked, "Are you well, Lady Catherine?"

I realized then that something of my morose thoughts must be present on my face.

"I am fine," I declared. "I am just a little tired and was not able to nap. Tonight I expect I shall sleep quite well."

Darcy nodded, but the look on his face told me that he was skeptical.

After dinner, I excused myself from the evening's entertainments. I let them think I meant to take myself off to bed, but instead I fled to the library. I hoped to distract myself from missing Anne and the loss of her potential progeny. Really, I was missing all of my dear lost children, but I could not think about all of them, it was too overwhelming.

After a bit, I heard the library door open and Mr. Bennet entered. He smiled when he saw me and said, "Good evening, Lady Catherine. I had a feeling I would find you in here."

With effort I returned his smile.

Mr. Bennet walked past the grey sofa and turned toward me. "Have you any good reading?" He gestured to the volume open on my lap. At that moment I could not even recall what book I had chosen. I could not even recollect the subject matter though I had read the first chapter.

Mr. Bennet held out a hand to me and asked, "Lady Catherine, would you join me on the sofa?" I nodded. I closed the book and grasped his extended hand, not because I needed it to rise, but because I would not ignore his gallant gesture, a gesture that seemed to me, perhaps, to offer more than our prior understanding that we were friends. I dropped the book on my seat as I rose.

Neither of us released the other's hand when I gained my feet. It felt pleasant to hold Mr. Bennet's hand. His hand was wide, soft and warm as it grasped my colder, thinner hand with its swollen knuckles and elongated fingers. Had I not seen the wrinkled thin skin on my own hand, I might have forgotten my age as my heart beat faster.

Mr. Bennet was silent as he led me to the grey sofa with the stubby, sturdy wooden feet, the sofa that I had thought of for the past five years as being _his_ sofa, even though it had been in the library before he came to Pemberley and would probably remain (perhaps with new upholstery) long after he was gone. He brought me to the right side, arranged a throw pillow to cushion my back and then released my hand that I might seat myself, first giving my hand the slightest squeeze. After a moment's hesitation I let his hand go.

When we were both seated, Mr. Bennet turned toward me and I turned toward him and he held out his hand again. I laid my hand in his outstretched palm and he placed his other hand across my own. He gently squeezed my hand between his two palms. The gesture felt very intimate, very pleasant and very safe. He cleared his throat and I almost missed his first words, so focused was I on the sensation of my hand being held. While I had many times walked with my hand upon his arm when he escorted me to dinner, I never recalled our bare hands touching before.

"Lady Catherine?"

"Yes?" I answered, looking into his intense blue eyes until they dropped to look at our joined hands. I found myself staring at our joined hands, also.

"Lady Catherine, it has been my very great pleasure these last few years become your friend. Do I mistake myself, do I ask too much, to venture whether we might have something more?"

"More?" I answered inanely. Surely I was mistaken in the leap my heart took. I knew Mr. Bennet was loyal, oh so loyal to his dearly departed wife, his beloved Fanny, even though he had told me more than two years ago that the fog that enveloped him had begun to clear, that he was taking enjoyment in his life again. I had hoped this might be in part due to me, but more than likely it was because finally at that juncture his favorite daughter was expecting her first child, had only a month or two to go in her confinement.

Years ago, I had resigned myself to the prospect that Mr. Bennet would never see me as I saw him. I had thought him pleasant looking from our first encounter, his salt and pepper hair, his clipped beard that was almost entirely white, his wise but sad blue eyes, beneath his droopy lids. He had a bit of a paunch and slightly stooped shoulders, but these did not detract at all from his appearance in my opinion.

From our first meeting I was drawn to him. I had wanted to make Mr. Bennet feel a bit of happiness, to ease the pain that had hung around him like a heavy cloak.

During the beginning of our acquaintance, I found Mr. Bennet to be a man of few words. This suited me just fine as I had enough of Mr. Collins's obsequious, flattering chatter to fill a lifetime (though of course this had lessened bit by bit after he acquired his wife). I felt a kinship with Mr. Bennet; we had both experienced loss and likely were wiser for it.

But gradually, after we began to have exchanges, I began to anticipate his quick wit, his sarcastic undertones. I began to see him not just as a possible friend, but as a man, a man who made me recall that I was a woman.

Although he gradually warmed to me, I saw no evidence that Mr. Bennet considered me as a woman, or more importantly as someone to desire. I felt he had no recognition that I was someone who despite my age still had longings and needs for a man's touch. I was well used to, still, occasionally, taking care of my own physical needs, but it was dull. I livened this up by thinking of him at such times, but that was probably a mistake because my heart began to race when he came near and I was often distracted by the thought of what it might be like to have him for my own.

Mr. Bennet seemed to welcome my presence in the library, but only because I was someone with whom he could share his concerns, such as about the possible barren state of Mrs. Darcy. I felt that I was simply a useful stand-in for the male companionship he did not have at Pemberley. While he was friendly with Darcy, I doubted that either was the confidant of the other about any personal matters.

It was the same old story from when I was a young debutante. I was too tall (taller than Mr. Bennet by an inch or two). I was not pretty enough to attract his attention (I had never attracted the attention of any man worth knowing). I could not compete with more beautiful women like my sister, or in this case with the memory of his lovely dearly departed wife.

And added to my longstanding failings, the years were not kind, I had crows feet around my eyes and the beginnings of age spots. The flesh below my chin was looser, too, the flesh on my upper arms drooped when I held my arms out. I had only lost two teeth (both were in the back pulled when they hurt so much that I welcomed them being pried out by the barber surgeon), but my front teeth had yellowed a bit with age. My hair, well it did not show my age as no one saw it, concealed as it was under my fine wig, but all of these other things revealed my age.

Mr. Bennet's eyes rose again and I found myself looking at him as he looked at me. I saw nervousness and restrained distress in his tightened brow, but also hope in his soft eyes and gently parted lips. His hands grasped my hand tighter and I found myself placing my free hand atop his own, so that our hands were pressed together in a stack.

"I will remain mute if my addresses are unwelcome," Mr. Bennet told me, looking at me most earnestly. "I know I am a mere country gentleman with nothing of consequence to offer the daughter of an earl but dare I hope that you might have some affection for me?"

I felt overwhelmed. By this time my heart was pounding, throbbing and I felt my eyes become wet, slicked with my emotions, as I fought to keep my tears within my eyes.

"Come now, Lady Catherine, surely it is not as terribly as all that." Mr. Bennet started to pull back, his face drooping, his eyes despondent. "I regret . . ." his eyes stared down at his lap before flicking up again to meet my own, "if I have offended you, surely you must know . . . It was not intentionally done. I know I am nothing to Mr. de Bourgh."

My lips parted and I knew I must say something, but I was well and truly flummoxed, completely overwhelmed and no words would come. I was feeling too much for any rational thought and made dumb. In the face of my continued silence, Mr. Bennet began to slide his hands back from my own, releasing me, and all I could think about, the focus of all my thoughts, was that I could not let him go, have him continue under this misapprehension (or at least that is how I justified my unseemly actions to myself afterwards).

Somehow, to this day I am not sure exactly how it occurred, I found myself leaning forward, grasping his face with my hands and bringing my lips to his. I kissed him and for a moment his lips were rigid and unmoving.

But then Mr. Bennet's lips began moving against mine just a little and then his lips caught my bottom lip in a slight suckle. After that there was no holding back on either of our parts. I felt his beard brush my face and it was both soft and prickly. Mr. Bennet tasted of wine, with a hint of our fish dinner, and of the biscuits he must have eaten afterwards and just a bit of the tobacco of his pipe; he smelled of books, the fire and horses and yes, a bit of the fish.

As our kisses deepened, Mr. Bennet grasped me around my back, drew me forward as I willing went with him, sliding onto his lap. We were as close as two fully clothed people can be and he kissed me with an urgency and fervency that I had never experienced before.

Suddenly I was all flesh and feeling with very little thought. I desired to be enveloped and surrounded by him and could not, would not have denied him anything. One of my hands was in his hair and another was under his coat, while I felt one of his hands just above the back top edge of my gown, his fingers sliding just a bit below that edge. That little touch burned a path down my spine into my belly and lower. Mr. Bennet's other hand was past the small of my back, on the top part of the left side of my rump and oh so gently squeezed there, which sent a distinctive feeling of desire rippling through me. My gown felt very constricting and his layers were so bothersome. I felt his hardness against my thigh. I desired to feel skin on skin, flesh on flesh, to be one with him, proprieties be damned.

Somehow Mr. Bennet had more self control than me as he wrenched his lips from mine, murmuring, "Lady Catherine, beloved, this is not the place or the time. I forgot myself for a moment and it will not happen again. I do not wish to besmirch your reputation. As I told my Lizzy a long time ago, an honorable man will wait."

Although my flesh still burned with my physical desires, I was suddenly very aware of my position on his lap, not in a private chambers but in the library where anyone might see. I scooted back, pulled my skirts into a more orderly arrangement and then touched my face, my lips. I could feel that my face felt a little scratched from his whiskers, that my lips were hot and plump.

Mr. Bennet began reaching for my hand again but then pulled back, straightened himself up and folded his hands together upon his lap, blocking the protuberance from my view. I felt bereft in being separated from him, of sitting a normal distance from him again. But then he asked, "Lady Catherine, will you condescend to be my wife?"

I felt a deep, overwhelming joy. But I had to be sure that I was who he wanted, and was not simply convenient. "If you are inclined to take another wife, would it not be far more prudent to marry someone younger, still in her child bearing years? You still might have a son."

Mr. Bennet tensed his brow, shook his head back and forth in negation and asked me, "What need have I of a son?"

I replied, "Longbourn is entailed. This benefits the Collinses of course, but have you not always wished to pass your land down to an heir of your body? Has it not been you who was most desirous of this for the Darcys?"

"And is this your only objection to wedding me?"

I nodded.

Mr. Bennet scratched his beard and pondered. I felt he was wanting to give me a thoughtful answer.

"It is true that I desired a son when I was a younger man; what man has not wanted a child made in his image to carry on after he is gone? And Fanny was depending upon it and as much as I teased her about her worries for the future, it cut me to the quick but there was nothing to do. I also worried about my wife's and daughters' future should I leave them without a suitable portion which was near impossible to save the way my wife spent our money. Perhaps I should have been stronger and held more back but Fanny had ways of getting what she wanted from me."

He gave a little grin then, as if remembering something fondly. I had a sudden insight that she might have done so through gifting him with marital favors or perhaps withholding them until he complied.

He continued, "But despite our spendthrift ways, my wife gained her reward without ever being deprived of what my money could provide and there is no need to worry about my daughters' futures now, as they have all married. While Lydia might have monetary needs beyond what her husband can satisfy, I have learned that Lizzy and Jane often provide her with assistance."

He paused and once again took up my hand. Looking most earnest, Mr. Bennet told me, "It may be selfish of me, but I wish to enjoy my middle and twilight years with a dear companion by my side. I am too old to be a father. I may dandle grandchildren on my knee but doubt I have more than two decades to raise a son. And Longbourn is nothing to Pemberley, life there continues with just a little management. As for having wanted children for my daughter, it is not so much about seeing Pemberley continue on in Darcy hands for generations yet to come. I wanted children for my child as my Lizzy would have never truly felt worthy of being Mrs. Darcy without giving her husband children. Too, now that the first has come, I have seen her delight in Janey, just as my Fanny delighted in our Jane. Her happiness is important to me."

Mr. Bennet held my hand a little more firmly, "So I ask you again, Lady Catherine, will you be my wife?"

I heard my answer burst forth, "I will."

Mr. Bennet's face broke out in a happy grin. He lept to his feet and then pulled me up and into his arms. He twirled me around before quickly releasing me. I found myself smiling and then laughing from delight. We stood next to each other, not touching but still happy.

When I reached for him, he drew back a little. "Now, none of that now. We have been much too forward. I would request that you forget such a lapse. I would treat you with all due respect before we are wed."

I nodded (even as I acknowledged to myself that I had been the instigator of the improprieties, not he). I could not resist asking cheekily, "If I invited you to visit my bed tonight, would you truly refuse?"

He licked his lips and my eyes followed the path of his tongue, noting that it was somewhat pointy and long. I wondered whether that lick bespoke of nervousness or desire. There was a strain to his voice, an unnatural tone when he replied after several moments, "Yes, although it would be difficult. Please issue no such invitation and lock your chamber tight in case I should be tempted."

"Ah. Perhaps we should discuss the date for our nuptials."

Mr. Bennet nodded and in that still strained tone responded, "May I ask, is it to much to request, that it would be soon?"

I tried to keep my voice even as I answered, part serious and part teasing, "I see that I have no choice but for us to marry soon as you will not indulge me in vice, your honor forbids it." I wondered if he was in jest about visiting my chambers or if indeed I would need to lock the door.

He replied, "Yes it does. I respect you too much and want the woman I love to be blameless before God."

"Love? You _love_ me? Truly? This is not just a prudent match in your estimation? A fitting conclusion that the single elder persons at Pemberley might as well marry?" Without my own volition, I began to shake and happy tears ran down my face.

"Yes, I do. I was in the middle before I knew I had even begun. I have wanted this for years, but you gave me precious little encouragement. What hope had I that the daughter of an earl would ever accept me, a man whose first wife was the daughter of a mere attorney, a man who has a modest estate that is entailed away?"

"Earlier, Mr. Bennet, you told me you were no Mr. de Bourgh. That is truer than you know. My husband may have been most suitable from his station in life, but he did not love me; I was only a means to an end. Our marriage was not a happy one; there was only duty and very little respect on his part. I need not be first in your heart, I know that privilege belongs to a ghost, but I wish for you to know, you are first and only in my heart."

He gave me a most tender smile and reached out to gently stroke my cheek. "There is no first or last. I did not have the easiest of marriages with my Fanny, we were of very different temperaments and interests. I acted somewhat impulsively in marrying her, acting more out of my base interest than considering all that marriage meant. Still, I loved her even as she often perplexed me (and I think it was similar for her). She gave me her whole life and gifted me with my pride and joy, my five dear daughters. I am a different man now than the man that married her and the man I am right now dearly loves you (and yet, this is not a slight to her)."

The next day when we announced our engagement, none seemed surprised, not one. Everyone told us how happy they were. I could not stop smiling and neither could he.

Mr. Bennet paid for an ordinary license from Mr. Collins and told me to name the day on which I wished to be married. We resolved to marry that Friday which was the minimum time needed to make basic arrangements. Neither of us wished to wait for our married life to begin.


	16. Chapter 16

**Well, this still isn't the end but it is coming soon.**

**Chapter 16: Mr. Bennet's POV: Waiting for the Day**

Once our engagement was announced, Mr. Darcy summoned me, Mr. Collins and Mr. Gardiner to the room in which the men generally spent the separation of the sexes. He poured all of us a drink and immediately told me, "I am so happy that you are to wed. Lady Catherine has been lonely and I dare say that you have been as well. It will be good for the two of you. However, I warn you that I expect you to observe all decorum in my home, especially before the marriage is solemnized. I will have no licentious behavior take place here."

"I understand," I told him and indeed I did.

Mr. Collins suggested, "Perhaps you might wish to purchase a common license so that you may be wed sooner rather than later."

I concurred.

I think if I had been a younger man and marrying a wife who was not the aunt of my host and patroness of Mr. Collins, I likely would have been subject to some ribald comments. As it was, though, no one said anything of the sort. Perhaps they did not think people of our age would wish to engage in passions of the flesh (though of course Mr. Darcy's warning implied he had not discounted the possibility). Or perhaps they did not wish to think of people of our age in an amorous embrace; I certainly would not have wanted to when I was a young man. But now as an old man I knew something that they might not. Although I might be weaker, a bit more stooped and frail, I still had the same desires of the flesh and dearly hoped Lady Catherine did, too.

When we rejoined the women, they were conversing about ribbons and lace and considering how long it might take to make up some new garments for my bride's wedding. When it comes to talking about dresses and fashion, women the world over must be the same.

Naturally with a room full of people, I had no chance to say anything to Lady Catherine alone. Thus we picked a wedding date in consultation with the Darcys.

Much later, when she arose to go up to her rooms for the night, I quietly told Lady Catherine, "I bid you goodnight and I hope to see you tomorrow for an early breakfast."

Lady Catherine nodded and smiled, responding, "Eight?"

That was a bit later than my "early" but I gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment. I rarely saw Lady Catherine before noon and knew she generally took a tray in her room.

A moment later I heard Lizzy say, "I shall go up as well." I had not realized how close she was to me and had a distinct feeling that Lizzy had overheard us making plans. This gave me a strange feeling of foreboding, but I tried to pay it no mind. What should it matter if my daughter knew we were to break our fast together? However, I was to learn how important it was the following morning.

That night as I lay in my bed, I wondered if indeed Lady Catherine might have left her door unlocked, hoping that I might visit her. However, my honor would forbid such conduct, even if my mind could not help but dwell on imagining Lady Catherine's maid helping her to undress. I imagined her rose colored dress being loosened and then dropping in a pool of fabric at her feet, exposing her shift. Then, perhaps, this would be removed as well. I imagined her maid bathing her in a copper tub, but this image had a fuzziness with Lady Catherine's breasts being of unknown shape, her nipples vague. I imagined her hair down, her silvered locks drifting in the water, undulating snakes. I imagined myself in the scene, plunging into the tub while facing her, her thighs and arms opening to me.

I slept ill, but awoke before my valet, Bran, had even arrived. I had already performed my morning ablutions and half-dressed when he finally opened the door from the servant's hall.

I reached the table at exactly seven minutes to eight a.m. according to my pocket watch, having already been awake for two hours. Darcy already there. He was drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper. After an exchange of greetings, we had companionable silence.

It was not until nearly half past eight when Lady Catherine arrived. I had already drunk my first cup of coffee, but had waited to take any food.

Lady Catherine and I ate slowly and tried to out wait Mr. Darcy. We had a stilted conversation in front of him; I felt neither of us could say what we wanted to say.

However, Darcy did not depart until Lizzy arrived, rising to kiss her cheek before he left. After greeting her, Lady Catherine and I exchanged glances.

My glance said, _I love my daughter but I did not want to see her now_.

Hers said, _Shall we never be alone?_

I shrugged. Neither of us made a move to leave. Having long ago finished my own breakfast, I took another cup of coffee; Lady Catherine requested more toast. We waited.

Mrs. Darcy ate slowly, reading the paper as her husband had done. We waited and waited, wondering, _How long shall she remain?_

Mrs. Darcy lingered until Georgiana arrived. Lady Catherine had long ago ceased eating, some crusts remaining on her plate, but she had declined efforts to remove my plate, likely wishing to keep at least the trappings of breakfast around her. I had only taken a couple of sips from my second cup of coffee, which long ago had grown cold. My rear was becoming sore from the hard wooden chair and I wondered if hers was becoming sore, also, which led me to think about the particular specimen of bottom that might be concealed under her dress. I imagined it would be pale and soft. I imagined holding her against me, my hands gripping each half moon. In such a way I whiled away the time, periodically turning my thoughts elsewhere to keep my member from disarranging my breaches.

However, after a while, I became frustrated. By this time the occasional glances I exchanged with Lady Catherine said, _This has all been arranged. They will never leave us alone._ Still, neither of us was willing to give up.

Before Georgiana finished eating, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and their children (all save for the youngest who was doubtless in the nursery with little Janey) came in. We spent some time talking and then Mr. Gardiner said, "My wife and I had planned to leave for London on the morrow but we have been considering whether we might extend our stay so as to attend your wedding."

Mrs. Gardiner added, "We have no wish to be presumptuous. We certainly understand if you would rather we did not remain."

I wished to accept but looked to Lady Catherine to let her know that it was to be her choice.

Lady Catherine responded, "Nothing could please us more." However I found myself wondering whether she welcomed their presence or not. After all, they were not nearly of her sphere. As for myself, I was genuinely pleased with their desire to remain to celebrate our nuptials. It meant a great deal to me that Fanny's brother approved.

Not long after that. Georgiana finished eating. After her plate was removed, she asked my bride to be, "Lady Catherine, may I show you a drawing I am working on?" Then she turned to me and offered, "Mr. Bennet, you are welcome to join us as well."

What could she do? What could we do? I supposed we could have remained and tried to out-wait all of the Gardiners, but doubtless someone else would have followed. Lady Catherine murmured her agreement and then looked at me as she began to follow Georgiana out of the room. I found myself following as well.

Georgiana should have not been deemed a suitable chaperone, but apparently she had been designated to do just that. It was so awkward to be before her. I wanted time with my beloved without scrutiny.

We looked at Georgiana's drawing, then she settled down to draw. I briefly left to retrieve a book, but found I could not read.

After a while Lady Catherine asked Georgiana, "Are you not going to practice the piano forte today? Diligent practice is most important in maintaining one's skill."

Lady Catherine then glanced over at me and I made sure to give her a cheeky wink. I could certainly see what Lady Catherine was trying to do. I did not imagine that she had some grand plan to seduce me, just days before our wedding, even if she had joked about inviting me to her bed. However, surely there could be no harm in exchanging a few kisses, could there be?

"I would like to practice," Georgiana admitted. She rose and I wondered if it could be that simple to get her to leave. Her next words showed me how wrong I was. "Lady Catherine, could you keep me company while I play?"

Lady Catherine gave me a look, before once again following after Georgiana. I wondered about remaining behind, but then it occurred to me that perhaps with the cover of music we might at least be able to talk.

When Georgiana was well occupied playing the piano forte in the music room, I stood up from my chair and joined Lady Catherine on the sofa. I looked her right in the eyes before I gently plucked her hand from where it was resting on her lap. I could not resist seeing her dear wrist and so I slid her glove down her arm, watching as pale skin, with a few freckles emerged. I turned her hand over and then gently kissed her wrist.

When she withdrew her hand I wondered, _Was __I too bold? Was what we shared the night before an abberation? _


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Lady Catherine's POV: Anticipation and Disappointment  
**

When Mr. Bennet kissed my wrist, there in the music room while Georgiana played, I was reminded of when I was yet a girl and kissed my own hand and arm, imagining what it would be like for a man to kiss me in that fashion. Although I had been married for more than fifteen years, Mr. de Bourgh had never kissed any part of me save for my lips and cheek, and once my forehead following a particularly difficult birth.

My breath caught, I felt a stir of desire. It was most alluring and most bold of Mr. Bennet, right there where anyone might see, during the light of day, to kiss me beneath my glove. All the conversation I had intended to speak (which was why I had been so anxious to get him alone) left my mind and I felt my face warm in a mixture of embarrassment and want.

However, soon enough I withdrew my hand so that I could regain the presence of mind I needed to have my wits about me when speaking with him. Seeing Mr. Bennet's disappointment, I quickly reassured him, "That was delightful but entirely too distracting. I wish to talk to you about several things, things that should be said and worked out."

He drew back so that he was merely sitting near me again. I felt bereft and wondered how it was possible after such a short period of intimate association to miss his closeness.

I told Mr. Bennet, "First of all, I know I have been remiss in never truly apologizing to Mrs. Darcy and so I wish you to know that I will do it forthwith as I should have done long ago. She has been very kind to me and I wish her to not regret that I am to be her father's wife."

"You will be as her mother," he gently corrected. "You will be as mother to all of my daughters, grandmother to all of their children. In time my children might call you mother but whether or not they do, you will be family to them all."

"Mother," I repeated, savoring the word, "Grandmother," I let the word flow out my lips. Those words sounded sweet, a balm to my heartache of having lost all of my children. I knew I was still a mother even if all of my children were gone, even Anne who I succeeded the longest in keeping with me, who I could still see vividly without the need to resort to viewing her portrait, who still visited me in my dreams. But I also knew that I needed to be needed, if at all possible.

"I have less in the way of relations to offer you, Mr. Bennet," I told him. "My nephew Darcy is already your son, my other relations his cousins. But you can and will be godfather to your cousin Mr. Collins's children. They have never had a godfather."

I felt this a sufficient prelude to add, "Perhaps we should have discussed the matter already, but I am determined that despite our marriage I should keep that which is mine and when that day comes that I am gone, it shall go as I have planned. Darcy and Georgiana have no need of it, neither does my nephew the earl, nor his sister. I have thought of doing something more to benefit my other nephew, Fitzwilliam, but as he married very well as he had always intended (and fortunately enough for him love followed the union), he is tolerably set to continue living in the manner that the son of an earl expects. My current will leaves my family but tokens with the bulk to benefit Mrs. Collins during her life and, thereafter, to the Collins children in the manner she shall designate. Given Mrs. Collins's fecundity, I imagine that even with their thrift that they have not saved so very much against when Mr. Collins should pass, and while Billy shall eventually gain your estate what would the others have? I imagine you have made arrangements to gift what is yours to give in favor of your own children."

"As for being godfather, I will serve if they will have me," he confirmed. "I do not seek any financial benefit in marrying you. Truly my married daughters lack for nothing but Lydia. I have made but token provisions for all of my daughters (a few special books for my Lizzy, the miniature of Fanny for Lydia, things of that nature) but Darcy is administer of a trust for the Wickham children as the Wickhams are spendthrift. But there is something else we must discuss."

His voice had turned solemn and I felt a bit of fear in my belly. "Yes?"

In a stern voice he began, "No more of this Mr. Bennet business." And then in a lighter tone, "I am Thomas, or better yet call me Tom."

I considered whether I could make a similar concession with my name. Lady Catherine had been my appellation since childhood and survived my marriage and widowhood. Although I had at times called Mr. de Bourgh "Lewis," I had never offered to let him be more familiar with me. He had always addressed me properly, save for in the bedroom when he simply called me "wife." When Mr. de Bourgh called me that, it did not give me the feeling of being beloved, but of being simply a convenient role, interchangeable with anyone else he could have married, who did her duty in accepting his seed. I considered letting Mr. Bennet, Thomas, call me simply "Catherine," but I shared that name with his daughter and that might make it awkward indeed.

"You need not reciprocate," Tom told me gently, apparently able to read all my thoughts. "I will continue to call you Lady Catherine in this house, give appropriate deference to your rank, save when we are alone. At such times I hope I am not being too bold to address you with more affectionate terms . . ." I nodded, and he added in a whisper, ". . . my love."

I felt my heart swell with happiness. The young woman I was so many years ago, who had dreamed of finding love, was filled with hope. Without any conscious volition on my part, I reached for him, but he did not take my hand.

"Are you done talking already?" He asked with a teasing tone.

I recollected myself and said, "No. I should like to discuss our future sleeping arrangements. I have decided opinions about the matter but I do not know if they align with your own." I was quiet then, hoping desperately that I would not be left to sleep solo. I would ask for what I wanted, but I had the sense that Tom was not someone who would simply defer if he was truly opposed to something.

Tom glanced at Georgiana and I did as well. Her back was to us and she was still well occupied with playing a difficult piece and showed no sign of even realizing we still remained in the room. He quickly scanned the room to make sure that save for her we were still alone.

Looking ahead, in the general direction of the door and Georgiana, Tom commented, "Maybe you welcomed my attentions but do not enjoy the marital act. I understand that is how it is for some. I suppose we need not do that, if you are opposed. Although I do think I am knowledgeable enough to provide pleasure to us both and would wish to have a true marriage, I will take only what you freely offer me."

"No that is not it at all!"

Tom then turned to me and smirked and I understood then that he spoke half in jest, to tease and to needle, but perhaps half to protect himself as well.

"Rather than occupy two chambers and wait for you to visit, well I would rather sleep together in the same bed." Tom looked at me with a rather dumbfounded expression until I added, trying my best to sound blase as I deliberately raised one eyebrow, "It is rather more convenient, do you not think?"

"Quite," her replied, his eyes traversing my body in a manner that felt quite lascivious. Perhaps this should have disgusted me, but all that I could think was, _Tom wants me! _

"I hope you are _up_ for that," I added cheekily.

Hi face clouded slightly and he responded stiffly, "As men get older, sometimes things do not work as easily. This is not about lack of desire, but the nature of age."

I did reach out for him then with one hand and gently rested it upon his arm. I did not speak until his eyes met mine. "Tom, I simply want to be close to you, to have a marriage that is about the both of us, rather than lie awake wondering when you might come, to have our interactions be all about the fulfillment of your desires and never my own, to be a vessel and nothing more. I had quite enough of that with Mr. de Bourgh."

Tom reached over and placed his other hand over my own. "I will do all I can to make sure you never feel that way again. You are precious to me, beloved, and I will do all I can to be the husband that you deserve."

He seemed so earnest, so genuine, that I felt on the verge of weeping (with joy and relief). It was too much, too much when we were in the room with Georgiana.

I turned my eyes from Tom's eyes, struggling to maintain appropriate control and decorum. "Naturally I will not oppose the Darcys if they wish to give us joined chambers. I will take what is our due and I am sure it will be more comfortable for Dawson and your man to not have to dress us in front of each other. I think I wish to seek Mrs. Darcy out now and apologize properly." Before he could respond, I swept out of the room.

Before I went far down the hall, I swiped at the tears of relief and joy that had spilled down my face. I took the time to compose myself before I sought out Mrs. Darcy. I might no longer be mistress of Rosings, but I would always be the daughter of an earl and I needed to uphold my dignity.

I found Mrs. Darcy in the nursery and asked if I might speak to her without the staff. She immediately sent the nurse and nursery maid away. I explained I had been remiss and then offered my apology for seeking to prevent her from marrying Darcy, and for the vicious things I wrote to him after he told me they were to be married.

Mrs. Darcy gave a little sigh and then told me, "Lady Catherine, first of all I must say I am relieved."

"How so?" I was flummoxed.

"You may think it unthinkable, but I had the momentary fear that you were meeting with me to tell me that you had second thoughts about marrying my father and were hoping that I would break the news to him for you. He has been so happy, happier than, well I cannot even say since when, and I was already considering what such news would do to him."

"No, he shall not get rid of me, at least not so easily as me renouncing our understanding. I quite intent to hold him to his offer; I want to marry Mr. Bennet, very much so. My marriage to Mr. de Bourgh was a convenient one and although I adored my children, otherwise the marriage was not a happy one for he always held me at arms length, was never willing to trust me with his heart."

"I am sorry," Mrs. Darcy offered. "And I am most willing to accept your apology, although I have long ago forgiven you. When you first came to live at Pemberley, do you not recall our earlier interactions? I felt then that you apologized quite as much as you were able, without admitting that you were wrong. I have long ceased to dwell on those past unpleasant times. Now tell me, has my father asked for you to call him Tom?"

"Yes, Mrs. Darcy, yes he has. It will take some getting used to, to always call him Tom, but I rather like it."

"Well, now, if my papa is to be Tom to you, I can hardly have you calling me Mrs. Darcy, now can I?"

"Why ever not?" I opposed. "I still call Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Mr. and Mrs. Collins."

"Yes, but we are family and to soon be doubly so. You address your nephews by their surnames without the Mr., and your nieces by their first names. You call my daughter Janey. As you niece and soon to be daughter by marriage, do I not merit being called by my Christian name? Can I not be Elizabeth to you?"

What could I do but agree? Elizabeth was far kinder to me than I deserved. Afterwards she took me around to look at possible chambers for us. After seeing several I asked, "Do you not think that Tom should have some say in this all?"

"Do you not know my father? Like most men, he has very little interest in these sorts of things, his main interest will be to make sure that you are pleased. However, if you come to find yourself debating between a couple of options, then will be soon enough to let him express any opinions he may have."

There was a set of rooms in one corner of Pemberley which, while not furnished to my tastes, had a lovely view of the rose garden my sister planted. Then there was another set of rooms which faced the stables, but had a fine fireplace and carved inlaid shelves and cupboards. I found myself admiring the dark wood and trailing my fingers along it, but this room was too near to Georgiana's room and I was afraid that certain sounds might carry.

"Well, if these will not suit, I have another option," Elizabeth told me. We proceeded to the stairs. I counted twenty as we climbed. Trudging up those stairs with my aching knees made me know however marvelous her option was, it would never do, but said nothing. She opened a door wide and told me, "These rooms have not been occupied for fifty years or more, although there are no furnishings we could certainly supply some."

I was immediately drawn to the windows which showed Lambton in the distance, a sight that was not visible from the lower levels, everything laid out in miniature. I regretfully told her, "Tis too many stairs I fear, and as the years march on it will be drudgery. If only this room were elsewhere."

Elizabeth led me back down a different set of stairs, telling me, "I have one more idea. This room was designed as a sitting room, though that is not how it was lately used, but no one uses it for anything anymore. I think we could create an internal door to its adjoining room. With some adjustments, it just might suit."

We walked for a time in the direction of the library, stopping at a door just outside it. I had likely passed that door a thousand times with no curiosity as to what it contained. Elizabeth placed a key into the lock and pulled open the door. The hinges screeched. "Oil hopefully will fix that."

The room was dark, but by the light filtering through the curtains, I could tell it was being used for storage. It was filled with furniture piled atop other furniture, covered by white cloths to keep off the dust. With effort I wound my way through the obstacles to the curtains and pulled them back. There was a row of windows and through it a view of the stream, with Pemberley's forest stretching out behind it. It was a calm view. Once I had more light I was able to see that at the far end of the windows there was a door. I opened it and found to my delight that there was a balcony that extended past the room. I turned back from the windows to look about the room. It was a rather large, with a stone fireplace and hearth surrounded entirely by empty bookcases which were built into the wall.

"Fitzwilliam said he and George took lessons in here and, afterwards, when the weather was fine they would sit out on the balcony and have their tea." She led me out and to the room next door. It, too, was filled with furniture, but it also had a row of windows, with a door at the near end. Elizabeth answered my unvoiced question, "That door leads to the self-same balcony, but otherwise the rooms do not yet communicate. I believe at one time their tutor may have been assigned this room as his own chambers as there is still a bed in here beneath everything else, against that wall."

"It is perfect, Elizabeth. Why did you not show me this one, first?"

"It is far from perfect and we will be doing very well to get the rooms cleaned and some passable furniture arranged in the few days remaining. I do not know that a passage could be added before your wedding day." I did not think that was very much of a problem, but I did not wish to explain why to her.

She had Tom fetched and as I anticipated he was more than happy with the arrangement as books would always be close at hand. I liked that aspect, too, but best of all was the fact that it was located quite far away from the Darcys' and Georgiana's rooms.

The days that followed were difficult to fill. As before, all of the household tried their best to never leave me alone with Tom which was a sort of torture. Once, just once, Elizabeth was summoned about the baby and ended up leaving us alone. The results were somewhat predictable. In a flash, Tom jumped up and closed the door. Before I could think to protest, he pulled me against him and we began kissing each other with abandon and my eyes closed of their own accord.

In short order, I felt Tom's hands running over my face, then neck, then breasts. I will admit, my hands were equally busy. So occupied were we that neither we did not hear the door open or close again, nor footsteps, but I knew right away something was wrong when Tom pulled back. Opening my eyes, I saw that Darcy had him by the shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this, Bennet?" He said in a low roar, wearing his most fearsome face. "Have you taken leave of your senses, pawing at my aunt like a callow youth?"

In his surprise, Tom was silent for a moment, so I entered the breach. "Darcy, I have no idea why you see it as your task to safeguard my virtue. I am older than your mother; I saw you in your nappies. It was not much more than a kiss and we are getting married in two days."

"Madam, you mistake yourself." I saw anger burning in Darcy's eyes and now it was directed at me. "However willing both parties may be, I shall not have rumors that we permit licentious behavior in our home. Think of Georgiana! This of Janey! Think of the Collins children; you are their godmother and if word should get out it will inevitably become exaggerated until it will be said that you were engaging in the marital act right here, on my sofa. You must behave with utmost decorum until you are well and truly married."

I would have protested further, but Tom said, "Beloved, he is right. I was not thinking about all of that. I do not know what has come over me. I, I ought to act with the decorum of my years, and having failed at that, I must remove myself from proximity with you." Tom lept up and I thought he meant to seat himself on a chair yonder, but instead he announced, "I shall remove myself from temptation by leaving. I am decided, I shall go and visit the Bingleys until Friday morning."

"But Tom!"

"Let Bennet do what he should have done when you first became engaged. It is unseemly for an engaged couple to be living under the same roof, but I hope that the matter could be managed given your years." Darcy told me, his voice more measured than before, his face relaxing into ease. "His wishing to safeguard your honor ought to be lauded, not dissuaded.

"Lady Catherine, I will see you at the church." Tom told me. He gave me a formal bow over my gloved hand, dropping a token kiss upon my covered knuckles.

It was evident to me that he would not be moved, so rather than trying to dissuade him I replied, "Very well," and tried not to let my disappointment show.

I fell into a bit of a funk when Tom was gone, realizing that there was something important that I had not had the presence of mind to tell him yet. I knew when I looked at the matter logically that it would not make a difference, but I could not help but be fearful that it would, that the tender expression he shared with me would vanish and be replaced with a look of disgust, when he learned that the hair upon my head was not what I grew myself.


	18. Chapter 18

**So I thought this story was basically done, but then Jane Bingley decided to hijack the story with her own concerns (I think I am going to have to edit Chapter 7 to have Elizabeth question whether Jane is being entirely honest with her).**

**Chapter 18: Mrs. Bingley's POV: The Men in My Life Let Me Down**

I did not expect my father to arrive at our home two days before his wedding and even more than that, after he was announced and joined me in my sitting room, I did not expect to see his shoulders more crunched down than usual and that he would have a valise clutched in his arms (apparently having declined my servant's offer to take it for him). In my surprise I jumped up and asked him, "Is all well, Papa?"

"Yes, everything is fine." He smiled, but it seemed forced. "I simply thought I might impose upon your hospitality until my wedding day. How better could I occupy my time than with my eldest daughter?" Then before I could make the mistake of trying to answer him, he added, "In this manner I shall avoid all the wedding planning. After all the groom need merely arrive and need not be subjected to fripperies."

Although Papa's tone was light, his face was not animated; his mouth turned down sullenly for a moment before he forced a more pleasant expression onto his face. His white bushy eyebrows stayed still without the quirk and movement that usually accompanied his clever words. It reminded me, just a bit, about what he was like the first time I saw him after Mama died.

I asked, "Did you do something to upset Lady Catherine?"

"No, all is well between us. Never fear, she will not jilt me. You will gain a most august personage as your new mother." His tone was lighter, gently teasing, yet still I felt something was wrong, that he had fled something, but it was equally clear he did not want to speak about it. Perhaps Elizabeth would have pursued the matter further, but as for me I had no wish to confront him about whatever it was, so I left it alone.

Papa cheered up a bit when we went to the nursery and he saw the children, beheld Fran's solemn curtsy, Charlie's enthusiastic run at him with his blond hair flapping, pulled short at the last possible moment, uncertain about the grandfather who had not bent down to greet him with arms opened wide. A moment later, Papa carefully, laboriously, crouched and extended his arms and Charlie bridged the small gap and thrust himself into his grandfather's arms and with a groan Papa lifted him up. I was glad the children were there to offer some distraction, even if his manner with them reminded me of his age when it had not before.

That night when I went to bed, I stayed awake for a long while, not because Charles would be visiting me (he was often tired from addressing estate matters and we had worked out a schedule in which he visited on Sundays and Thursdays), but because I had my father on my mind. I thought about how little I understood my father's mind and my relief that he had declined living with us. Although I loved him, he had a sharp edge to him, a way teasing that could be hurtful if it were to be directed at you. It had been directed at me all too many times.

Although I am known as the serene sister, the one who always sees the best in others, I still feel hurt like everyone else. I simply do not show it, bury it deep inside myself, cover it with white, pristine snow.

I remembered visiting Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in October several years ago. I had only just turned fifteen and our trip to London was both to celebrate my being out and to see my new cousin, little Emma. It was during this trip that in the course of enjoying some entertainment that my aunt and uncle had arranged, that I gained an admirer. Like my mother they thought it their duty to amply entertain their guests and we seldom had a dinner that was only of the six of us as Elizabeth had come on the trip as well and was deemed old enough to join the table.

Mr. Barrington was a thick-set man of about thirty years with medium brown hair, a lighter sandy beard and a ready smile. He was friendly and before long we were conversing, although it was only for him to observe, "It is rather warm for October" and for me to reply, "Yes, quite" and to add, "It makes it easier to enjoy London."

After we had been in company perhaps half a dozen times, Mr. Barrington wrote me a sonnet that was delivered to me via my uncle. My father insisted on reading it aloud to us all and chuckled afterwards, commenting to Lizzy, "He fancies himself the Bard." I can still remember that Mr. Barrington rhymed "blonde" with "fond" and "thee" and "me." But I was not given the sonnet to look at myself; oh no, it was for my mother to grasp it from my father and to exclaim over it (it was never given into my possession at all, for of course an unmarried woman should never receive correspondence from a man, or at least not a man unrelated to her).

Mr. Barrington's action raised rampant speculations by all concerned that he would ask for my hand and it seemed no one could talk of anything else. I remember it was talked about exhaustively at the dinner table and then after an interlude of other conversation, the topic was raised again that evening after Lizzy was already abed. Papa talked to Uncle Gardiner while I talked with Mama and Aunt Gardiner (Emma was asleep on her lap). We were having two separate conversations about my suitor . Doubtless, Papa did not know that I was listening to the men's conversation at all, for Mama was crowing loudly about my conquest, which should have drowned out their more sedate conversation.

Uncle said, "Mr. Barrington is a good man, a fair man, who is rather clever when it comes to trade and is on his way to being rich indeed. I have never known him to be smitten before, to go so far as to write a woman poetry. My only real concern is that Jane is rather young."

Papa responded, "That is not such a mark against the match, given Jane's young age Mr. Barrington might excuse her lack of knowledge about the world, think that it is just a sign of her youth rather than know for certain that she is as silly as her mother. He admires her pretty face and figure, indeed all the lines in his sonnet focused first on her appearance and second on her gentleness. Another mark in her favor perhaps is her placidness, like the very best of dairy cows she will be content where she is placed, most fit for her purpose."

I remember feeling a sudden hurt, that Papa thought so little of me. Tears threatened but I quickly blinked them away, quickly hiding my feelings like someone might draw curtains across a window. Mama and Aunt had not noticed my reaction to Papa's words. Although I was directly across from my mother, oblivious she droned on, seeing nothing but her imaginings of our whole family's good fortune. My aunt was not looking up at all, choosing to focus on her daughter's sleeping face; likely she had reached her limit in attempting to feign interest in my mother's conversation.

However, Uncle apparently did see my reaction as he gave me a little encouraging nod and tried to temper my father's words. "Jane is not just a pretty face. She is goodness personified, the kindest person one could ever meet. Any man would be lucky to claim her as his bride. My only concern relative to her youth she would not know her own mind or would know but let her desire to please you and Fanny both count for more than seeing to her own happiness."

"She will do well with anyone, be content with any situation," my father replied. "She is quite good enough for Mr. Barrington or rather he is for her, so long as he can be satisfied with a vapid wife. Now if it was a couple years hence and he wanted my Lizzy, well that I would never allow. She is the quickest of her sisters and has a fine mind. Yes, my Lizzy is fit for a handsome man of letters, a university man, not just one who keeps the terms but one who desires knowledge as others desire air, not just a portly man with a fat purse."

I remembered, even hours later as I prepared for bed, being most bothered by Papa's pronouncements and how he saw me as lacking compared with Lizzy, even though at that time I did not know why he was comparing me to a cow or what "vapid" meant, did not learn until I joined Lizzy in the guest bed we were sharing, roused her and then asked, "What is a dairy cow fit for?" (she sleepily told me, "Why having a calf or perhaps several, and then producing milk for the rest of her life until she cannot anymore and then she may be slaughtered for meat.") "What does vapid mean?" ("Dull, without any depth.") But still as always, I did not say a word about my feelings, kept them deep down in the inside, excused his behavior like always.

But long after Lizzy rolled over and fell back into her slumber, I thought about what Papa had said and whether I wanted to become Mr. Barrington's wife. He seemed pleasant enough. I liked his voice; he spoke firmly and calmly. I liked his clear blue eyes which were rather like my own. I liked the care he took to please us all; escorting us a museum, to the theater, inquiring particularly as to what I might wish to see (having no idea of what was on offer or what I would like, I deferred to his greater wisdom).

After the first time we met Mr. Barrington, Uncle Gardiner told us Mr. Barrington's import business was thriving and I firmly believed it the next time we saw him, when he hosted us all for dinner at his home, his mother (a spare, soft-spoken woman), serving as hostess. Immediately upon entering, we saw a number of exotic items in his sitting room. My mother especially marveled, practically shouting, "What plush rugs, what exotic statuary and I see your trade extends to the dark continent!" He had rugs from India, a marble statue of a woman whose assets were barely concealed between marble leaves and vines (he claimed she was Eve after the fall but before the animal skins), a side table made from an elephant's leg whose top was made from a zebra skin, with glass protecting it.

I remember exclaiming, "I cannot help but feel sorry for a three legged elephant."

Mr. Barrington's face looked pinched but he said nothing. My Aunt Gardiner (who had left Emma at home with her wet nurse) quietly whispered to me, "The elephant was killed, its other legs must be tables elsewhere."

I felt horribly embarrassed, said gently, "Oh, I see."

"Your innocence does you honor," Mr. Barrington told me, lightly touching my hand in a gesture that I suppose was meant to be comforting but a cynical part of me felt that he was using this moment for his own purposes. I did not mind it, though. It was pleasant enough, and I found it a bit flattering that he wanted to touch me.

Over dinner I was seated next to Mr. Barrington with Papa on my other side and Mama well down the table. It bothered me how Mr. Barrington's eyes kept looking at me, dipping down to my bosom before he recalled himself and looked up at my face, how between courses he was always rubbing at his sandy bearded face with his thick fingers and the way his belly stretched his too tight waistcoat.

Later after dinner, when he returned after the separation of the sexes, Mr. Barrington was florid and dabbing sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. He smelled of walnuts, strong drink and cigar smoke. He did not smell like Papa, who always faintly smelled of old books.

As I lay in my bed that night, I imagined Mr. Barrington's sausage-like fingers grabbing me close and being kissed while accosted by his beard and breath. I imagined him doing to me what Mr. Foots had done to Hattie. He would pluck and pinch and caress as he sweated, and push himself against me again and again until he was done. But there would be nothing the matter with letting him have me so long as I was married to him. I imagined my belly immediately swelling with his child, of having a baby boy when I was only sixteen and him praising me for him and giving me a lavish gift as a reward.

These thoughts scared me but the idea of having a different life away from Mama, Papa and all my bothersome little sisters, was also intriguing. I also knew that if Mr. Barrington asked me, Mama would expect me to accept him. I thought about how Uncle Gardiner had worried about me doing just that. I wondered how I could dissuade Mr. Barrington. Being that I am not as quick as Lizzy, I had to think a long time until I arrived at an answer that I thought might do.

The next day, Mr. Barrington called upon us and told my mother, "I should like a moment of Miss Bennet's time."

My mother cried, "Oh how wonderful, she will be so pleased, I am so pleased." And then without another word, she closed me in the parlor with him, banging the door closed.

Mr. Barrington walked confidently to my side (I was standing), grabbed my hand with his and told me, "Miss Bennet, my admiration cannot have escaped your notice. What happy luck placed you in my path." He was standing a respectful distance from me, but earnestly, firmly, rubbing my gloved hand with his own. I found it distracting, both somewhat nice and dismaying. My thoughts were running in every direction like ants that dwell beneath a rock when the rock is removed and I was also quite aware of the fact that his bulging crimson waistcoat was closer than I would want it to be.

I do not know where I gathered the courage from, but I told him, "Do not ask me."

He wrinkled his brow, stroked at his sandy beard with his free hand and asked, "Excuse me?"

"Do not say what you will later wish unsaid. You have been everything kind to me, but I find I am not ready to leave my sisters and my home." I pulled my hand back from his hand.

He gave me a cross look (his eyebrows sweeping together with a deep line forming between them) and then announced, "Why then, Miss Bennet, did you let me waste my time?"

I had no wish to cause him hurt feelings, to disrupt his business relationship with my uncle, but I also did not wish him to continue a pursuit of me. I settled for saying, "I thought, perhaps, I might be ready, but I realize now that am not."

"In a year?" Mr. Barrington asked, once again his eyes caressing my bosom, before they rose again to my face. "I will give you time if that is what you need. I know my heart. You need not fear any inconstancy in me." He lightly squeezed my hand in a gesture that must have been meant to be reassuring, but made me feel as if my hand was trapped in a cage.

"A year may not be long enough, you should not wait. I am sure there are many ladies who would gladly become your wife long before I am even ready for a proper suitor."

"Very well, if you are certain, I will not expect you to change your mind. You may tell your mother that I have business in the North and just wished to call upon you to wish you adieu as I shall not be back before you depart from London. However, should you change your mind, send word through your uncle. I will wait to pursue anyone else for a year, this I can promise. You are worth the wait dear Miss Bennet."

"I thank you for your kindness," I told him and for a moment we looked into each other's eyes. I saw longing and regret there; I do not know what my eyes showed him.

He gave a little bow and promptly left. He had handled everything so kindly, that I half regretted declining him.

The Jane Bennet that returned to Longbourn a fortnight later was different than the one that left. I knew I could not be like my sister Elizabeth, but if I could not be the clever sister, I could be the one who was "goodness personified" as my uncle had said. I decided that a woman who was "goodness personified" could never think ill of anyone, not her father, not her mother, no one. When I had bad thoughts about anyone, I no longer complained. I put on a pleasant face as others put on a new dress, I hid my bad thoughts deep inside.

I thought about Mr. Barrington as that year went by and a month or so after the trip even talked to Charlotte about the matter, telling her of Mr. Barrington's good points and his bad. She told me most earnestly, "Jane, it sounds like he would be a pleasant life companion and you might have a life of ease. Him offering you that time shows a devotion and constancy that is most pleasing. Look around us at Meryton. There are very few suitable single men and a woman's bloom only lasts so long. You might be doing well in a few years to be the second wife of a widower and to be raising his children and heir, with your own sons forced to seek a trade and your daughters forced to seek a life of service. As for me, I would gladly take an offer from a widower now rather than risk being left on the shelf, but I fear that I might never marry. I do not wish to live always with my mother and be a burden to my family. Truly, I think you should send word through your uncle before it is too late."

I thought about Charlotte's words very carefully and considered further. I wondered, had I made a terrible mistake? I might be young for marriage, but I could have been content, of this I began to be sure. I saw now that Mr. Barrington had given me an opportunity to escape from my embarrassing mother, from my littlest sister who always broke my things, whose latest mischief had gotten ink stains on my best gloves which earned her no consequences from our mother and even as I seethed inside I only said, "Oh Lydia, you must try to be more careful. I know you did not mean to do it" (even though I suspected she knew it would stain my gloves when she used them to squish raspberries). I might avoid hearing my middle sister's attempt to learn the piano forte, never have to stop myself from saying, "It sounds as if you are killing the music," as I suffered through her endless jangling discordant practice, even as I told her, "I admire how dedicated you are to your practice." I would no longer suffer all the attentions I received from Elizabeth, who had to be reassured, "You are most lovely no matter what Mama says," while simultaneously resenting that Elizabeth was so much smarter than me, but repeatedly wounded me (unintentionally of course) by making me feel most foolish indeed and stealing the affection I might have from Papa if she did not exist.

As time went on, I began to be more certain that when Christmastime came and my uncle and aunt visited, that I should then ask my uncle to tell Mr. Barrington that I had reconsidered, that I was ready to accept his suit and to marry by the following summer. When they visited after the initial exchange of pleasantries Mama began one of her tirades, "Brother, sister, it was so lovely to have your hospitality in London. What a fine time we had, if only it could have ended with my Jane betrothed. A man who writes such pretty verses raises expectations and Mr. Barrington used our whole family ill indeed by failing to offer for Jane."

I managed to edge in, "Have you word of Mr. Barrington since then?"

My uncle wrinkled his brow. "I heard a few days ago that he is lately married, to a woman of three and twenty. I have met the new Mrs. Barrington before; she is blonde like you Jane, but is not nearly as sweet as you in temperament. However, she came with a handsome dowry."

"Oh, that is terrible news!" My mother moaned. "I had hopes that we could visit you again soon and that he might resume his courtship of Jane."

I felt my recently formed hopes crumbling, but let not a hint of how I was feeling escape. I responded, "I hope they shall be very happy together." I knew he did not owe me anything, but still I felt betrayed.

In the years that followed, a time or two I felt a half-imagined admiration for one man or another. I would tell Elizabeth about them, but usually she would tell me how foolish I was being in liking such stupid men. This felt like she was pouring a bucket of cold water upon me and soon enough any attraction I had for them faded.

Oh how my heart soared when Mr. Bingley came to reside at Netherfield and it seemed like he might be someone whom my sister would find acceptable. I had never enjoyed dancing half so much as when I danced with him at the assembly. Finally it felt like perhaps I had a future to look forward to again, but I did not want to get ahead of myself. Afterwards, when I tentatively communicated my admiration of him to Lizzy (he was, after all, much superior to all the men I had hope might admire me after Mr. Barrington), I was pleased when she gave me her permission to like him.

In Mr. Bingley was someone who rivaled Mr. Barrington's wealth, but in a more pleasing and respectable package. When I thought of what the marital act entailed, I imagined that I would enjoy doing my duty with Mr. Bingley. I also liked that his sisters were women of breeding and style, and that he was not nearly so much older than me compared with Mr. Barrington.

I placed much hope in Mr. Bingley's admiration leading to marriage before too long. He was so kind to me after I became ill at Netherfield and when I was well enough to venture down, he always looked at my face far more than the rest of me.

I remember how much I had anticipated the Netherfield Ball, always modestly correcting my mother when she pronounced to anyone who would listen, "It is as good as a declaration, clearly it is given in my Jane's honor!" Yet, still, there was hope in my heart that it might just be true.

And then we had danced (as the host he should not have danced at all and instead entertained his guests) which was most glorious. Later, I danced with other men with a light heart, because almost always I spotted Mr. Bingley watching me spin, whirl and promenade.

After the ball had concluded, Mr. Bingley and I were waiting for the Bennet carriage to arrive. We were quietly conversing a little apart from the others. Mr. Bingley told me, "I am so glad you were able to attend tonight, dear Miss Bennet." He lightly squeezed my gloved hand with his own for emphasis.

"I am also quite glad to be in your company." I replied, modestly looking down, admiring his muscular calves in his stockings.

"Just now, or could perhaps you wish it extended longer?" He pressed my hand a little tighter and I looked back up at him. His eyes held mine, searching, seeking, hoping (at least I thought). It was a look not unlike Mr. Barrington's look when he was on the verge of proposing. I could not help but compare Mr. Bingley as being superior to Mr. Barrington. I did not wish to lose him. I thought about Charlotte who had told me that I needed to show Mr. Bingley my admiration so as to encourage him to be in love with me.

I squeezed Mr. Bingley's hand back and took a chance, being more forward than I had ever dared to be. "For always, should you wish it and ask it of me."

"Truly?" He held my hand more firmly, lifting his eyes to look at me with his light eyes. "I do wish it, Miss Bennet. But there are some things I must do, before." He was so earnest, I had no fear, only a wild swelling hope, a delight. I was not sure if he loved me or I him, but it felt that love could surely come.

Just then, it was announced that our carriage had arrived. As I walked away, I glanced back to look at him. There was a promise in the look that he gave me, or so I thought.

But then there was his sister's letter and him nevermore returning, the coldness of Miss Bingley when I went to London and called upon her. When I was sure I had lost him, well it was then that I knew my heart. I had loved and lost. I did my best to conceal my feelings, but somehow Lizzy still knew how I felt.

I was scared to trust Mr. Bingley those many months later when he returned to Netherfield after having abandoned me so thoroughly. I also had a deep seated resentment that I kept deep down inside. I thought we understood each other at the conclusion of the Netherfield Ball and it had hurt so much when he proved fickle.

But Mr. Bingley was so very gentle with my heart then, and freely confessed the error of his ways, that I could not help but let my heart rule over my head. Lizzy said I was in danger of being just as in love with him as before, and of course she was right. I could not help but accept when he asked for my hand.

I kept secret my resentment of his prior action in leaving and not returning. I never confronted him for not trusting the words of devotion we exchanged at the Netherfield Ball. But it was there between us, an invisible wall dividing us.

I do not think he noticed this, or understood. We talked of many things, such as whether Elizabeth would accept Mr. Darcy's hand when he was brave enough to offer it to her. I had long seen his admiration of her, even while she insisted that he only looked at her to find fault. It was not right that once she accepted him they became happier than I was with Charles. I felt our happiness was a faded version of theirs, like a faded, smeared drawing that had been crumpled up and straightened, compared with a crisp drawing, colored over with ink.

Perhaps I should have attempted to talk my feelings of betrayal through with Charles before we married, but I had not the bravery. I let Lizzy demand an early date, did not oppose Charles in his wish that we should marry when they did. Charles, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were so eager for our joint wedding to take place and must have thought I felt likewise.

Although I was rather horrified by my mother's wedding night talk, I did feel that it prepared me. The act was over almost before it began and I was just left with a little ache and a strange wetness between my legs. He told me, "Thanks you, dear Jane," gave me a kiss upon my brow and left to sleep in his own room.

In the morning he was back and spent some time viewing my nude body in the light of day while I blushed and tried to conceal myself with my hands. He plucked them away and told me, "Jane, I am your husband now. Let me look at you."

He must have liked what he saw as he crawled onto my bed, undid his fall and proceeded to do the marital act again. Again I was glad for my mother's advice, to know that this time it would take longer. I felt more pleasure this time as he kissed me and caressed my breasts as he moved within me. I let him. I was rather passive, letting myself be more of an object than an active participant.

Still, as the days went by, I gradually took a more active role in our interactions and found more pleasure in them. I enjoyed being married, mostly, but for the fact that my mother was always coming over to Netherfield without an invitation.

Mama first arrived the afternoon after my wedding day and insisted on having a conference with me. "Jane, how did it all go?"

I blushed and refused to answer.

"Ah, I suppose it went well enough, then. I hope it went well enough for your sister, too. I cannot wait to be a grandmother. Do try to make sure you have daily interactions and soon enough you will become with child. If he is having trouble rising to the occasion, you may urge him on with the touch of your hand or by suckling his member with your mouth. He will like that, to be sure; all men do. But do not let him take his pleasure this way, when you are not coupled, not until you are with child."

I duly told her, "Thank you for your advice, Mama." Fortunately after that, she went away.

But it seemed that she could not stay away. The following day she arrived in the afternoon again and asked, "Have you coupled yet today?"

I nodded.

"Ah, you are doing well child. Make sure to encourage him to take his pleasure of you at least once a day."

It was like this almost every day and it was driving me to distraction, but I said nothing to deter her visits. A woman who was "goodness personified" would not be cross with her mother.

However, I finally had enough when she asked me almost three weeks after the wedding, "Now Jane, have your courses arrived yet? It occurred to me that they were due two days ago, although of course the stress of the wedding and becoming a wife could delay them. Of course it is not unheard of for a woman to catch right away."

I told her, "Mother, now that I am now longer living in your home, when my courses do or do not arrive is between me and my husband."

"But did they? Please tell me Jane!" Mama reached over and placed her hand upon my abdomen. I shied away. The truth was that I had been spotting and I was badly cramping, a sure sign that my courses might start in earnest at any moment. I wished to retreat to my chambers and apply a warmed brick to my middle.

"Yes they did; now let me be." I tried my best to keep my tone even and polite.

"Well why ever did you not tell me so? Tell me, does Charles still want to engage in the marital act when you are wet with blood? You must let him decide whatever he wants about this. This may be a good time to pleasure him in the other ways that I have described."

I got up and said in the most pleasant tone I could muster, "Good day mother. I do not feel well and I wish to be abed."

"Alright Jane. I will see you tomorrow."

I left then.

That night, when Charles came to visit me in my bed, I had to inform him as to the state of my body. He was already opening his fall when I told him, "Charles, can you wait a moment?"

He paused, hands upon his buttons, "What is it, Jane?"

"I am indisposed in the manner that occurs for all women."

He did not seem to understand what I was trying to tell him.

I tried again more bluntly. "My courses are upon me."

Still, no understanding crossed his face.

"It is my monthly."

Still nothing.

"I bleed."

This garnered a quizzical expression. "Dear Jane, what is it that you are trying to tell me?"

Then, to my great mortification, I was forced to explain the details of how a girl becomes a woman, the cyclical nature of a woman's cycle and what it consists of, and that a woman may be with child if her bleeding time fails to come.

Oddly enough, that discussion and the frankness with which I was forced to speak, seemed to bring us closer. It almost felt as if that wall between us was thinning out. However, for reasons that even now I do not fully understand, Charles then confessed something to me that made that wall impossible to breach.

He confessed, "Dear Jane, there is something that I must tell you. While I was away in London, despairing over losing you, well I did not act in the way that I gentleman should. It has been eating me up inside not to tell you the truth. You see," here he looked away from me and studied yellow and white striped wallpaper of my chambers most intently, "a time, or two, or three, when we were apart, I enjoyed the company of paid women."

My breath made a sharp sound as I sucked in air. I felt I could not breath. I knew that the world could be an ugly place. I knew what had happened to Harriet and her sister, even though her sister was blameless. I knew Bingley could have visited Miss Watson's place when he took residence of Netherfield, had he been so inclined.

Charles took up my hand, stared into my eyes and said, "Believe me, Jane, I only thought of you and all I thought I had lost, but in doing so clung onto needing physical comfort. A friend suggested it might help me to get over you." He seemed to think this would excuse his behavior. I said nothing, I do not think I was capable of any sound then.

"I feel so much better now, having told you the truth. Believe me, although many of my friends see nothing wrong in taking a mistress or paying for occasional comfort, I will not do that again, now that we are married."

I remained silent, furiously thinking, wondering if Mr. Darcy was his friend that urged him to try such a source to get over me. I was so very angry that he had so little faith in what we had, in the words that we had exchanged that almost formed an understanding. But even as I seethed with anger, I kept my face as impassive as I could.

"Please, Jane," there was a little catch in his voice, a slight cracking. I could tell he was tormented by my lack of reaction. "Say that you understand, that you forgive me. You are my angel, sent to me from heaven."

I wondered to myself, _What should a woman who was "goodness personified"do it such a situation? _I knew with certainty that I was not such a person, but Charles did not know that. He did not really know the real me, the one who was just as resentful and broken as everyone else.

I took a deep breath and told him, "I forgive you."

He grabbed me tightly in a crushing hug, "Jane, you are too good. I do not deserve you." I was passive in his arms for a bit and then I tentatively rubbed his back. Apparently that was enough for him to believe my words and for him to think he was absolved. Soon enough he was asking if we might engage in some of the alternative activities my mother had suggested for a husband who had no wish to partake of the marital act while his wife bled upon him.

That day and the days that followed, I played the part of a dutiful, kind wife. Sometimes I even believed the act I was putting on.

Charles became convinced that the source of the unhappiness that I could not fully hide from him was because my mother was always invading Netherfield. I did not particularly like the frequency of her visits, but it was the betrayals from him that caused me to be downcast, not my mother. Still, I was willing to have Charles buy an estate in near Pemberley and so he did.

When Lizzy told me of the pleasure to be had in the marital bed, that a wife could have the same enjoyment as her husband, I really did not believe her and had no plan to ask for anything more from Charles. But then he also heard about this from Mr. Darcy and he insisted on trying to provide me with pleasure. It was nice to have him focus more on what I would enjoy than to have him simply think of his own pleasure, to do more than simply make sure I was sufficiently slick for his intrusion. But I never did reach the peak that Lizzy promised was possible. After it was clear that Charles would try every night until I did, I finally gave a loud moan and praised him excessively. The truth was that I could not forget myself, could not completely trust in just feeling, when his betrayals were still between us.

Later when Lizzy wanted to speak to me about the fruits of her advice, I lied to her. It was easy to pretend to be embarrassed and then to act as if her advice had done me a world of good. I suppose part of me would have wished to have a more open conversation with her, but I had no wish to share my torment with her (I had never shared with her that before Charles left Netherfield for London that we almost had an understanding, certainly never told her that he had consoled himself from my supposed indifference to him and my deficient family by dipping his stick in whores). I told her what she wanted to hear because it was easier and I did not want her pity. I wanted for her to think I had the relationship I had with Charles was at least equal to the one she had with "Fitz."

As time went on, Charles paid less and less attention to my pleasure, but I did not mind so much. By this time I was large with child and more than content to have him finish quickly so that I could get more sleep. He does not truly seem to care that I ask nothing of him when he visits my chambers. I have improved in my ability to pleasure him with my mouth and we only engage in the actual basket making perhaps three times a month. I am quite content to remain with only two children. I have no need to fear for my future and if I feign love more than I experience it, I shall at least always have a comfortable home. Is that not a fair exchange?

Still, when the Collinses came to Pemberley, I admit to feeling a bit jealous when Charlotte told me that despite thinking she would only gain a comfortable home that she found love and happiness instead. I still do not really see how she can feel that way about my ridiculous cousin, the one that Papa and Lizzy were always laughing about. And yet, he does seem to have changed; Charlotte must have been a marvelous influence upon him.

However, in my mind I had it far better than Lady Catherine, who had lost her husband, all her children, and finally her very home. But like Lizzy and Charlotte, as the years passed it became evident that Lady Catherine and Papa fancied each other. Tomorrow they are getting married and they seem to be in love.

Now it seems that my marriage is just a shabby blanket that seems plush from a distance while everyone around me has a down-stuffed quilt. Recently I have been wondering, _Can I ever tear that wall down and just let myself be happy? Can I claim the life I wish for myself or is it too late?_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Mrs. Darcy's POV: Rather Too Much Information**

When Papa came to me with my husband by his side and announced to Georgiana and me, "I am leaving to stay with Jane until the wedding. I have already packed so I will bid you both adieu until Friday morning," naturally I was taken aback. I almost asked him why, but in seeing the looks that Fitz and Papa exchanged, I could see that there was more to the story and also that it was not something they wished to discuss in front of my sister. I wished Papa farewell but resolved I should have the whole of it from my husband later.

However later turned out to be later than I had planned as soon thereafter, I received a summons that Charlotte had arrived. She was sitting in the salon but of course arose to greet me properly when I arrived. "So good of you to receive me, Mrs. Darcy." Even after she stood, I could see the slight swell to her middle under her loose yellow dress that confirmed the latest Collins child was growing within. I wondered why I had been so oblivious before.

"Charlotte, you know there is no need for formality here!" I exclaimed and embraced her. As if knowing my bosom friend and my womb child's future playmate was nearby, my own child moved and stretched and, as my belly was against hers, she felt the movement ripple against her.

"Oh, your new little one is certainly an active fellow." She took a step back and I did, likewise.

"Perhaps you woke him or her up when you said hello. I am reminded of the passage in the Bible where Saint Luke recounts the baby leaping in Elizabeth's womb when he hears Mary's voice, and then Elizabeth and Mary both speak so beautifully about how God has blessed them."

"Well I am no Mary." Charlotte grinned and then rolled her hand to gesture at me and my belly.

"And I am no Elizabeth. Oh, wait, so I am!" I grinned at her. "But this is not John the Baptist here." I rubbed the swell of my middle feeling a pointed bump on one side. I wondered if I was feeling a knee or something else. "But come to think of it, John Darcy might be a fine name."

"Not Fitzwilliam Darcy? A firstborn son should properly be named for his father. Or George Darcy, after your husband's father?"

"Oh dear no, while Fitz is proud of his heritage and connections to that house, he is not too fond of his given name as a first name. Besides, one Fitzwilliam Darcy is more than enough. And as for a George, I believe George Wickham foreclosed Fitz's fondness for his father's given name. He was named for Fitz's father, as you may recall. And Georgiana was named for Fitz's father and mother."

As I was having this exchange with Charlotte, I considered how I had thought I would remain closer with my sister Jane, had been so happy when the Bingleys settled near us, but things were not the same between Jane and I as when we were younger. I had grown closer to Charlotte than my own sister, spent more time with Cousin William than my brother Charles. Although we named our daughter for my sister (and his, she was Jane Georgiana Darcy) and Jane had given her daughter Mama's name first and my name second, I felt that perhaps in naming our daughters for each other we had acted more from obligation than affection.

Charlotte and Cousin William had dutifully honored Lady Catherine twice, first by naming their first daughter for her and their second daughter for Lady Catherine's daughter (though of course they had known Anne). Their daughters' middle names had been in honor of first William's mother and then Charlotte's mother. I wondered if they had another daughter, what name they would choose.

As if Charlotte could read my thoughts she told me, "If this next one is a daughter, William said she should be named for me and his Grandmama. I suppose William feels that he neglected me in us naming our two daughters for other people. I am not so sure it would not be confusing to have two Charlottes in our home, but I am more fond of my given name than hers, Phyllis (she was named for her father, Phillip, or so I would guess from the family Bible), so I suppose my name should come first. I should care more about how important William's grandmother was for him than about how her name sounds. I proposed that we might give her your name as it would do triple duty as it was also his grandmother's and mother's middle name. Then we could call her Lottie-Beth (which I think rolls off the tongue better than Lottie-Liza), but he is otherwise inclined."

"He is right; there are already too many Elizabeths around." I smiled.

"This always happens when I see you, Eliza, I become distracted from the original purpose of my visit. I came here today because I wish to host a last minute hen party tomorrow evening for Lady Catherine. There has been so little time before her wedding that I thought it might be fun to have some women get together for dinner and then socializing. I wish to have only the married ladies as I think it would be fine to talk about things unfit for maiden ears. I was thinking to invite you and Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bingley and a couple of women that Lady Catherine likes that reside in Lambton: Mrs. Barton and Mrs. Webb."

I thought the idea an excellent one. "Certainly, I think she would like that. My cousin should come here. Perhaps Fitz may wish to invite for the men to have their own celebration." We worked out further arrangements and then went to find Lady Catherine to make sure she was amenable.

Lady Catherine told us, "Really it is too kind of you, Mrs. Collins. I am already missing Mr. Bennet since he left for the Bingleys' earlier and I dare say this will make the time go more quickly." Charlotte glanced at me, curiosity clearly written on her face but as I did not know why my father had departed earlier, I merely shrugged. I resolved once again to ask Fitz why my father left.

I did not get an opportunity until we were abed, a candle still lit on each side of the bed. When we were first married I always wanted the candles blown out, but I soon learned that Fitz wanted to see me with more light than could be had from the fireplace. Fitz was already pulling me close to kiss me, when I told him, "Wait a moment. I wish to talk with you." First I told him about the hen party and then said, "We need to have Mr. Collins and their children over here so that we may have our women time. Mrs. Collins will send the children with their nurse and they may stay in the nursery with Janey and Maria." I suggested, "Perhaps rather than simply hosting Mr. Collins, you might have a stag event for Papa."

"Do you think your father would like that?" He countered. "I have never thought him to be too fond of the things like that. Surely Mr. Collins could just come over and work on his latest sermon, most quietly in the library. He might appreciate the peace of being away from his children."

I sensed that Fitz was trying to get out of hosting anything. It was not too surprising as Fitz does not particularly like to host events.

"It need not be anything elaborate, perhaps just a few men having drinks. Maybe just Mr. Collins, my uncle, my father and Mr. Bingley." I could see him pondering and thought, perhaps, that the idea was starting to appeal to him.

We talked and planned for a while and then when Fitz tried again to draw me close for a kiss, I again stopped him, my hand across his lips, him kissing said hand and making me long to feel his lips on mine. It was distracting, but I was determined. "Not yet, Fitz. I still want to hear about why my father ended up leaving so suddenly earlier."

Fitz gave one last kiss to my palm, then captured my hand in his and kissed the back of my hand before placing it on his covered chest. He looked solemnly at me and then sighed. He looked contrite. "I think, perhaps I overreacted. I came across your father and Lady Catherine in the middle of a passionate embrace in the library. It was more than we have ever done in said room. Georgiana could have walked in on them, or one of the servants. He was touching her . . . her . . . " He hesitated again, scrunched up his face and pulled his face back, his expression resembling someone who accidentally swallowed something sour. He finally forced out, "Her assets . . . "

"Stop!" I raised my hand from his chest and placed a finger across his lips. I tried to ignore that he immediately started to kiss my finger and then the palm of my hand again, and rolled toward me while pulling me flush against him, with only our light night clothes in the way. I could feel the firm evidence of his desire against my turgid belly and it was quite distracting, so much so that I had to roll onto my back before I could collect my thoughts enough to continue to speak. "I suppose it was my fault for leaving them unsupervised, but I do not wish to think about Lady Catherine having . . . assets or my father touching them. My parents kept that sort of behavior to their rooms. I suppose that means that their marriage will be lived out in every dimension, even if they are rather old." I could feel my face flush.

"Yes, quite!" Fitz squeaked in a voice slightly too high. He cleared his throat and attempted to speak in a more normal tone. "I suppose that means that we, too, may still be getting up to all sorts of trouble when we reach their age."

Whereas his off pitch tone recalled a bit what a boy sounded like when growing into a man, once his words sunk in I almost immediately replaced the image of a half grown man with an older Fitzwilliam, with hair more white than dark, kissing me urgently. Suddenly the idea of older people being intimate did not seem nearly so disturbing.

My thoughts must have been quite transparent as Fitz gave a little smirk. "I will always desire you, my dear, sweet E-liz-a-beth." He drew out my name in a way that was teasing and tantalizing. It reminded me of how he confessed, after one most vigorous session in bed, that when he was kissing me in my most secret place that he tried to write my name again and again with his tongue. The thought made me focus on a certain portion of my body and notice my growing desire. Somehow, being pregnant, had increased both my appetite for food and for other types of physical fulfillment. The idea that my current ripe state was the result of his attentions made me long for him even more.

Perhaps he could see my desire, for Fitz told me, "Now let us stop thinking about _them_ and let me see _your_ assets." Fitz started draw up my nightgown, slowly, savoring it. I helpfully lifted my bottom until it was bared and then sat up, waiting for my nightgown to be lifted from me.

He paused, "Dear wife, I do not know why you bother to wear a nightgown at all; you know I always make it my mission to remove it."

"Well, my maid helps me change and I can hardly say, 'Price, leave me naked while you brush out my hair.'"

"I would not mind seeing that." Fitz interjected and I felt myself blush. I wondered if I would always blush when he made frank his desires. He was so proper most of the time that he could still surprise me when he used innuendo.

I ignored his interruption and continued, "And I believe you have told me before that it is fun to unwrap your presents. Furthermore," I felt my argument gathering strength, "What about you? You always come to see me every night in your nightshirt."

"It is a little cold to just come traipsing into your room in nothing but my skin."

"Traipsing, you? Surely you stride, but either way I would not mind seeing that, " I echoed his words.

"And I prefer to not display myself when I am not at my most impressive. Cold air tends to diminish what I have."

"Ah, I knew it, you have a bit of vanity about you."

Fitz shrugged, apparently acknowledging that it might be true. Then he continued lifting my nightgown from me and when I was bare before him he lightly stroked the growing curve of my belly, which my larger breasts now rested just above. "You are lovely this way, ripe, luscious."

Soon, very soon, his fingers, palms and lips were everywhere, and mine were busy as well. We both gave into our desires and no more words did we exchange. We were too busy doing, feeling, being. Yes, there were sounds involved but they were mostly moans, grunts and us murmuring the other's name. There was also a slight rhythmic squeaking of the bed which grew more pronounced and quicker toward the end.

Afterwards, Fitz retrieved my nightgown and pulled his own nightshirt on as he knew I had no wish to scandalize Price. Usually he stayed until dawn but retreated for his morning ablutions while I continued my lie in, but once or twice my maid come in before he left. I fell asleep on my side as always (the baby bump was much too large to sleep in any other fashion), with him wrapped around me.

The next day passed away much as they all had, with Fitz and I spending most of the time separately with our own concerns. Much of my day was spent with Janey and my littlest cousin, Maria, but Mrs. Reynolds also wanted to review with me the plans for the wedding breakfast and the progress being made on readying the chambers for the soon to be newlyweds. day

She told me, "I have been doing the best with what we have on hand, but there is simply no time to open up the wall and get a new door installed. While Pemberley has furniture a plenty, new featherbeds would certainly be in order and the furniture all needs to be reupholstered and new curtains should be ordered."

"It sounds then as if there is no hope to have it ready by tomorrow."

"That is true, but I think I have a possible solution. Do you suppose you could send them on a wedding trip?"

I agreed that the idea had merit and so had to go and talk to Fitz about it at once. We had only begun to sort that matter out before it was time to dress for dinner which I would have with the ladies. Fitz told me, "Do not worry, I will get everything arranged, I will put my man working on arranging it at once."

After we were all dressed and ready, it did not take long for the carriage to convey Lady Catherine, Aunt Gardiner and me to the vicarage. Lady Catherine was dressed very fine in a silver-blue gown that showcased her elaborately arranged silver hair, while Aunt Gardiner was wearing her second best dress, the first best one being reserved for the wedding on the morrow. I felt fortunate to have a dress that still fit as I felt larger than I had with Janey and there was still some time to go.

Mrs. Collins greeted us warmly and immediately bid I get off my feet. Soon after Jane arrived and Charlotte told us, "Please come to the dining room, we are ready to commence with dinner. Unfortunately, neither Mrs. Barton nor Mrs. Webb is able to attend. Mrs. Barton is ill and the Webbs are London-bound according to their housekeeper."

Lady Catherine inclined her head in a most noble manner and told her, "That is fine. We shall have a pleasant time with a more intimate party I am sure."

Jane looked around the room and then asked Aunt Gardiner, "Where are my cousins? Surely the girls would have enjoyed besting us in parlor games."

"The hen party I have planned for today would not all be suitable for them," Mrs. Collins told her. "But first, as all of us have known Mr. Bennet longer than his bride-to-be," she inclined her head, acknowledging Lady Catherine, "I thought perhaps we could share some of our knowledge with her. Does anyone have a story about him that you would like to tell her? The winner may choose our first game after dinner."

Charlotte started off by recounting Mr. Bennet's kindness of dancing with her at the first assembly when she was out. "Mr. Bennet is such a bookish fellow, that you might not think it of him, but he is a very graceful dancer. If only Mr. Collins could have benefited from his instruction!"

"I have never seen Tom dance," Lady Catherine admitted. "There have been no balls at Pemberley and neither of us have done any dancing at other venues. I suppose we are both too old."

"I do not think that is necessarily true." I told her. "Fitz and I wanted to host a ball for Georgiana's formal come out, but she refused. Perhaps we should host a ball to celebrate your marriage a month or two after the newest Darcy arrives. You and my father could lead the first set if you are so inclined."

I recalled my younger sisters' enthusiasm for balls. I, too, had been rather partial to balls. The thought of gliding in Fitz's arms certainly had appeal, but I could not imagine being ready to have everyone see me in a ball gown for quite some time.

Next, Aunt Gardiner talked about meeting my papa for the first time as a young bride. "I will admit that I was a little intimidated by him. He had been at university and I felt he must be judging me wanting, but he was quite kind to me. He asked me my opinions and listened to my answers. When they were about to leave, he joked that Mr. Gardiner was fortunate that he, that is Mr. Bennet, was not a single fellow as he, Mr. Bennet, would have paid court to me and stole me away from Mr. Gardiner. Then your mother said, 'Oh my dear Mr. Bennet, you have a silver tongue. How do you think he won me?' Then she smiled fondly at him and he told her, 'I am lucky to have caught you as those young men who will soon be interested in our daughters might wish you were free to be caught instead.' I know Mrs. Bennet had not a mind nearly equal to Mr. Bennet, but they was a general affection rather than just a tolerance between them. I even saw him squeeze her bottom on one occasion, when they had no reason to know I was there. " We tittered at her comment.

When Jane was called upon to share a memory, she declined saying, "His favorite daughter will surely have something better to say of him then me. " There was a sharp edge to her words that I did not like, an almost bitter turn, but then she smiled so sweetly and I found myself wondering if I had actually seen that flash of negative emotion or not. I dismissed it to myself almost immediately, _My dear Jane would never have the slightest irritation for Papa! _But then I wondered whether she did not like the fact that Papa was marrying again. She has not said any such thing to me but I could not recall any particular enthusiasm for the match from her either.

I told a story about Papa letting me style his hair when I was but a child, but my mind was not fully engaged. Instead I was trying to sort out what Jane might be feeling and wondering when my own dear sister had become a stranger to me. I kept wondering through two sets of parlor games.

We took a break, had some more refreshments and then Charlotte said, "I have one last activity in mind. Am I too bold to think that we might discuss what is most fun about the marital bed?"

Aunt Gardiner's eyes grew wide. "Surely not! That is such a private matter."

As I feared my proper aunt would put an end to the fun, I immediately protested. "But Aunt Gardiner, as I recall you were going to give Mrs. Collins advice about how to space out her children. If you are willing to talk to her about that, why not discuss what might give the rest of us ideas for further enjoyment?"

"I do not wish to have this conversation," Jane said, looking down most modestly and then adding, "Perhaps I ought to go."

Charlotte responded, "I have no wish to chase you away, Jane. But as married women and mothers, someday it will be our duty to advise our daughters as to what to expect from married life. When you give Franny the talk on the eve of her wedding, shall you not wish to help her learn about furthering her own pleasure with her new husband? Naturally, Lady Catherine is no innocent maiden, in fact gave my husband and I most careful instruction herself before our wedding life, but I thought, surely there are things that we have all learned which might benefit each other."

Lady Catherine looked at Charlotte and said (it seemed for her alone), "Although I have made it my mission to ensure women are treated well in the marital bed, my knowledge is not so practical as I led you to believe, Mrs. Collins. Although I had a good working knowledge about my desires, Mr. de Bourgh had no interest in fulfilling them."

"How can this be?" Charlotte asked. "You were correct about everything!"

"Please forgive my deception." Lady Catherine responded. "I needed the two of you to believe I had knowledge and not simple intuition, otherwise you might have rejected my advice."

Jane muttered to herself, "So Lizzy's knowledge from Charlotte was actually from Lady Catherine?"

Before anyone could reply to that, Aunt Gardiner commented, "Now I am intrigued, just what did you tell Mrs. Collins that was passed along to both my nieces?"

With not the least bit of shame, Lady Catherine regaled us for more than half an hour with just what she had told my cousin and Charlotte together. Many times we embarrassedly laughed, many times we blushed, our eyes wide with amazement. Even Jane, who I had feared would retreat, listened most intently but had an impassive expression, but I could see that her eyes were just a touch wider than usual. I remember thinking, _Lady Catherine is the bravest woman I ever knew, for who else but she would deign to tell a man how best to perform the particular act which nature endowed him to deliver and, afterwards, ask them both to report on whether it was done properly!_

After Lady Catherine was through, she said, "I hope that my advice was helpful to you, Charlotte. It seemed to me that you were easier with Mr. Collins as time went on and in due time came to love each other. It made me so happy to see how your life together flourished. I did not doubt that he could eventually make a wife happy; he is so eager to please."

"Yes, quite." Then, suddenly she blushed a deep shade of pink. I had no idea what she might be thinking of that could mortify her in that way, but then it suddenly burst out of her. "He loves it when I take charge in the bedroom." Her blush abated somewhat, but I felt that there was more to it than what she had revealed. However, not one of us was willing to ask her more about the matter.

The silence stretched on. Finally, I commented, "Lady Catherine, thank you so much for being willing to share your advice. I know that Fitz wanted to please me, but had no notion as to how best to go about it. What Charlotte passed onto me was so much more helpful to gaining pleasure than my mother's talk."

"I am glad you and my nephew benefited, my dear. Do you know that I was in such a snit about him not marrying my Anne that I took pleasure in thinking you would both be deprived of my advice? I am so glad that Charlotte saw to it that you learned what you needed. I cannot help but think, though, that if a husband truly cares for his wife he will figure it out eventually. Now tell me, just what did your mother tell you."

I felt put on the spot a bit, but soon my courage rose to allow me to relate the advice she gave. I found myself imitating her intonation in a playful manner when reciting a series of "in and outs" and soon had everyone laughing when I described her "visual aides"and how they were consumed afterwards.

Aunt Gardiner seemed astonished. She asked Jane, "Was that really what your mother did?"

Jane nodded, obviously embarrassed. To take the attention off her I said, "I do think the information was helpful, but it put me off eating sausages, pickles and cheese for quite a long while."

The topic turned to what the rest had been told by their mothers and it soon became clear that our mother's talk was more informative than most. Aunt Gardiner revealed, "My mother was a very pious woman and told me that even after marriage it was inappropriate to engage in fornication. She told me about the act but directed it was to be engaged in at night, when it was dark and we should be well covered by bedding and never remove our night clothes. She was most adamant that if my husband insisted on anything else, that I must close my eyes and let him do his 'duty' as my husband's 'sinful part' and my 'sinful opening' should never been seen by the other. She directed that, as she termed it, 'the procreative act' was only for making children and never to be engaged in for pleasure 'like the savages and heathens do.'

"Thank goodness that your uncle quickly disabused me of her notions. He was so clever, telling me that God made us male and female to enjoy ourselves within the bounds of our marriage and opening a Bible and reading to me from the Song of Solomon. I shall never forget when he read to me, 'Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.' and then explained to me that it was an analogy and what the gardens and fruit represented."

Soon enough, Charlotte pulled out the Collins family Bible and she, Lady Catherine and Aunt Gardiner gathered around to peer that book. I held back and so did Jane. There was clearly not enough room for us to see anything.

Jane came over to me and said quietly, gripping my arm, "May we sit in the other parlor for a bit?" I was not sure why Jane wanted to be alone with me, but I gladly acquiesced. When we were alone she told me, "Lizzy, perhaps I am a horrible wife."

"How could you think such a thing?" I asked her, astonished. Jane had always been the one who I measured myself against, always falling short because I was not nearly so good and pure in my motivations compared with her. I had no expectation as to what she might tell me, but was still surprised at what she revealed next.

"I do not wish to give my husband pleasure or for him to give pleasure to me."

I was perplexed. "Why ever not?"

Slowly her tale began to unfold.


	20. Chapter 20

**My latest guilty pleasure is reading Harry Potter FanFiction (even though I only made it through a couple of the books I watched the movies with my kids), specifically the pairing of Snape and Hermoine where Snape survives the Nagini's bite. Interestingly enough, I've even found some P&P references in some of those stories, the analogy being that Snape, like Darcy, is similarly misunderstood. **

**Chapter 20: Mr. Darcy's POV: I never expected the stag party to end with Bingley's drunken confession.  
**

Although our stag party was more a spontaneous event than anything else (I had issued invitations only that morning which was by far the least amount of notice I had ever given for an event, it was gauche, but Elizabeth was certain my guests would excuse the rudeness of inviting them on such short notice), I felt I had more than enough spirits to ensure it went well.

Gardiner was waiting with me, as of course he was staying in my house, but as for my guests coming from elsewhere, Mr. Collins arrived first. He bowed quite low, and then told me, "Good evening Mr. Darcy. I apologize for being perhaps a bit early but Mrs. Collins was anxious to get me out of the vicarage before her guests arrived and the coachman seemed unhappy to have me remain in the coach overly long."

"Think nothing of it," I told Mr. Collins, anxious to avoid an excessive apology from him. "You are on time and undoubtedly the others will arrive soon."

He most graciously told me, "I thank you for your kind condescension in allowing me, your humble vicar, to attend your party. It was certainly preferable to have someplace so pleasant to go, to be invited to Pemberley, the jewel of Derbyshire, rather than to have to temporarily find a place with our livestock." I was not sure if he was making a joke at then end, but then he smiled.

I responded, "Surely Mrs. Collins could never be so mean."

"You are right, I am sure I could have remained in my office for the night, but being here is a far better thing." Mr. Collins paused, his lips closed for a moment and then opened his mouth as if he was going to say more. I waited, expecting to be bored with more flattery from him. However, he closed his mouth and with a start, I realized he was done.

I was then able to respond, "I am glad you are come." I noted that he was no longer wearing tight breeches and then recalled to myself that I had not seen him in any for a while. For something to say to fill the awkward silence I said, "You look more comfortable in looser breeches." Then I felt awkward, to be noticing and commenting on what another man wore upon the lower half of his body, well that implied I was looking where I ought not.

Fortunately Mr. Collins took no offense only saying, "How kind of you to notice. I never appreciated how truly ghastly fashionable breeches are to wear and then to endure repeatedly struggling to tuck myself into them, all for the sake of sparing my wife from having another child for a while and to have it not even work, why I am well glad to be rid of them! I have no wish to ever be fashionable again."

The idea of Mr. Collins ever being fashionable was a laughable one. Mr. Collins with his tight breeches and the rest of his clothes loose (he had lost a bit of weight but apparently busy with their growing brood, Mrs. Collins had never thought to have new clothing made for him, or to take his existing clothing in, or perhaps she had but he had declined, feeling that as a man of the cloth he should not be that concerned about his clothing), had seemed to me to resemble a dark goose with his large body dwarfed by his skinny legs.

When I shared this fancy with Elizabeth in a private moment, perhaps a year ago, she laughed merrily and suggested, "Or perhaps a turkey, he often favors brown. Yes, definitely like a turkey, a fowl with no grace. It is well that Charlotte has come to bear affection for her husband, she says she loves him but I can hardly comprehend it, he is such a buffoon.

"When I think of how awful it was to dance with him at the Netherfield ball, always moving wrong, and how the next day he proposed to me, ridiculously refusing to believe I was earnest in my rejection of him . . . why even now I can recall what he said!" She adjusted how she held her body, gave a low bow, and in the guise of imitating Mr. Collins said in a deeper voice, "It is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the alter ere long." She extended her hand to me as if I were Miss Elizabeth being proposed to by Mr. Collins.

Was it wrong that I found her play acting alluring? that I bantering back: "Why yes, I shall gladly marry you, Miss Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth dropped out of character to give me a curtsy and a slightly naughty grin. But apparently she was not done talking about Mr. Collins as she added, "Even when I told Mr. Collins that I was perfectly serious in my refusal, he kept obstinately continuing to doubt me, nay to even believe the opposite, no matter how plain I was. I can only conclude that once he moved on from me to Charlotte, that he must have continued to pursue her until she finally consented. He is not all that appealing to behold, but understanding him better, and seeing how he has made Charlotte happy and is a good father to her children makes me think not so ill of him as I once did. Furthermore, I think he has become both less servile and less proud. I hardly mind his company at all, now."

As my opinion of Mr. Collins had gradually changed as the years passed, and moreover he had earned my gratitude with his intervention regarding my breeches and we had both thereby profited from his advice, I defended him. "He can hardly be faulted in having the most excellent discernment as to single you out as a desirable partner in life and Mrs. Collins, too, was a fine choice though of course my Lizzy is much finer." I lifted up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand while gazing over her knuckles into her lovely dark eyes, which had an expression which was half amusement and (dare I think it?) half desire.

Before I could get too distracted, I released her hand and continued, "I would count Mr. Collins as a friend. He is definitely a more pleasant man than he used to be and is a dedicated vicar, faithfully executing his duties. The parish has benefited far more than I could have ever foreseen and he and his wife provide much succor to the poor (largely with my funds, of course). I can only conclude that his past over-blown servility with me must have been based in awe of my station and what he thought anyone of consequence would desire from one such as him."

Mrs. Darcy beckoned me closer and we shared a quick kiss. She then suggested, "Fitz, it seems to me that it might be a fine time for a nap in our chambers."

Of course I told her, "I quite agree!"

We had such a lovely time and, afterward, we had well earned our nap. I ended up leaving her sleeping, dressing quietly and then kissing her forehead and giving a light pat to the curved flesh that might contain my son. Having no pressing business, I then went to see our Janey in the nursery and spent a happy afternoon with my sweet daughter, taking her for a long walk in the garden (although naturally enough, much of the time I was carrying her).

It was lovely to dwell in the memory of that afternoon, but I knew I needed to focus on being a good host. I examined more closely the Mr. Collins before me now. He no longer appeared like a goose or turkey. Instead he appeared to be an unremarkable, ordinary man; this was a vast improvement.

Mr. Collins turned to Gardiner and told him, "Mr. Gardiner, I did not mean to leave your out of the prior conversation. I am pleased to be able to see you again and how fine that you were able to stay to see my most kind first patroness married, and to your own brother by his first marriage. I cannot but imagine that it is bitter-sweet to see him with another, but let me assure you that Lady Catherine is the finest woman he could ever marry and he does no dishonor to the memory of the late Mrs. Bennet, God rest her soul, by wedding Lady Catherine."

I could tell the moment when Mr. Collins understood the faux pax he committed in speaking thusly to the dead woman's brother, as he reddened with embarrassed and fell silent once again. Fortunately, before Gardiner could formulate a response, Mr. Bennet arrived, oddly enough by himself and not with Bingley. The timing of his arrival was fortuitous as I knew that earlier in the day Gardiner's emotions were running high and it was better if he did not have to speak just then.

Gardiner shared earlier in the day when it was he and his wife, and me and mine, in a thick tone, that was unlike his usual manner of speaking, "It is not that I begrudge Bennet happiness with another. I know he cared for Fanny and he certainly did mourn her for a long time. It is just that Lady Catherine is a very different sort of woman and I cannot help but think that he and my sister might have been happier if they were a better match." Gardiner then clenched his jaw, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he held in whatever else he had to say on the subject that might be unseemly and fought to keep his composure.

Mrs. Gardiner gave him a warm and understanding smile, gently stroking his arm. She said, "I think Mr. Gardiner cannot help but remember the times when Mr. Bennet would find amusement at Mrs. Bennet's expense. She always acted as if she did not notice or understand it, and perhaps she did not, or perhaps she simply could not conceive that the husband she loved would intentionally be mean to her. Their temperaments and intellects were not a good match, but she was probably happier with him than he was with her. After all, their marriage raised her consequence greatly."

Elizabeth curled into my side and grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. We exchanged a look that said, _How fortunate we are to have each other._

In remembering my sweet wife, I felt a longing to be spending time with her now. It was with effort that I reminded myself that she was having a lively time elsewhere and my responsibilities as host had only just begun. I resolved to keep my attention focused on my guests and the greetings I was exchanging with Bennet.

I asked Bennet, "Pray tell, is Bingley not attending?"

"I hardly know," Bennet told me. "He told me he planned to come, but then was absent the rest of the day.

Perhaps half an hour later, Bingley arrived, but not alone. With him were his steward, Mr. Cobb, and two of his tenants, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams. I had met them before; he found them convivial company. Evidently Bingley invited these three himself and as a gracious host I could hardly exclude men who immediately praised my generosity upon their arrival.

But that did not stop me from halting Bingley's progress right inside the door by moving in front of him (after the other men had moved past me), and giving him a sharp look. He returned my gaze with an innocent look that said, _I have done nothing to deserve your ire,_ and then mumbled, only half apologetically, "They are my friends, Darcy, and we already had plans before your invitation arrived. The more, the merrier, right?"

I said nothing in reply and he walked around me. That is my way most of the time. I am patient and patient until I can be patient no more.

We began the festivities by eating some little tarts, biscuits and rolls with cured pork or current jam. And there were spirits, an endless supplies of spirits, and cigars. I was entertaining in the most manly room I could, my grandfather's trophy room with the mounted heads of many animals expertly stuffed: bears, deer, a wild boar and some kind of exotic cat. They stared down at us with their dark glass eyes as we sat in oversized chairs around a fine round walnut table.

We started with some toasts to Bennet's and Lady Catherine's good health. I sipped cautiously, but Gardiner, Bingley and Bingley's steward and tenants were not so restrained. Bingley and his friends along with Gardiner were clustered nearer to each other around one half of the table while Bennet was next to me on the other side with Collins just beyond him.

Bennet told me, "I cannot let myself become disguised. Lady Catherine would be disgusted with me if I appeared tomorrow not looking my best."

I responded, "Elizabeth will expect me to be at my best tomorrow at the wedding and at the wedding breakfast we are hosting afterwards, and as the host this evening also, I must not let anything get out of hand."

Mr. Collins added, "Given as I am conducting the wedding, I must be careful, too. I would never disrespect Lady Catherine with less than the best service possible."

Bennet looked at both Mr. Collins and me and commented, "Those are very convincing excuses, but I do not think it in either of your natures to willingly become drunk."

"That is true," I admitted. "Only once did I overindulge. One time was more than enough."

"Will you share what happened?" Bennet asked. He and Mr. Collins gave me their undivided and as it was no great secret, I decided to explain.

"I was fourteen and home for the summer along with George Wickham. He had stolen a fine bottle of scotch from my father but I did not know that was what he had done at the time. It seemed a great adventure to try it out. George poured me a wine glass full. At first I was cautious, only sipping a bit, but George took a large swig out of his wine glass and teased me for being so timid. Being at that age when one is eager to prove himself, I let him goad me into having more than I ought."

"Very understandable," said Bennet.

"Once I became accustomed to the taste I began to find it lovely and George encouraged me to drain my glass. He claimed he had not meant to pour me so much, but there was no way to return it to the bottle and, naturally, I was uncomfortable with the idea of wasting it."

Mr. Collins nodded and opened his mouth as if on the verge of giving one of his speeches, but then silenced himself, clicking his jaw closed, so I continued.

"Later in my chambers I spent almost the entire night stuck over my chamber pot. It was awful. Every time I had to open the lid, the smell of my own sick ensured I expelled the remaining contents of my stomach even when nothing but bile remained.

"The next morning, when my valet found me, I was passed out upon the floor next to said chamber pot, spittle dripping down my chin and globs of sick next to me. He was none too kind in rousing me, fussing about my condition (he cleaned me up and turned me out of my clothes, helping me don a nightshirt while complaining about what the maids would face later, but given that he was sending me to bed he took the chamber pot out himself). Now settled in my bed, and free from the worst of my own noxious odors, I drifted into a half awake-half dream state.

"My father stomped into my room, pulled the curtains open and then bellowed, 'How could you take my best scotch and let a servant see you this way?' His boots, voice and the blinding light set my head to aching twice as hard, its throbbing pulsing with his every word and stomp.

"What did you do?" asked Mr. Collins.

"Why, I apologized. I never dreamed of getting George in trouble. My father was merciful and let me stay abed; I did not receive my punishment that day. When I had recovered and reflected upon what had happened, I promised myself that I would never overindulge again, and I never have. Looking back, this was just one of many episodes that should have made me more cautious about being friends with George than I was, but it was easy to overlook his bad side, because he knew how to have a good time and it was more lively when he was around."

Bennet nodded and we were silent for a time. I imagined that Bennet was thinking about what George had cost his family. But then the moment passed and Bennet turned to Collins and said, "Son, I imagine that I know why you are never in your cups." A look passed between them as Bennet placed his hand on Mr. Collins's shoulder.

"I am sure you do," Mr. Collins responded, with a touch of anger, "but thanks to you I still had to suffer through how he was."

I was confused. I had no notion of who Mr. Collins might be referring to, and then it came to me that I knew far less about Mr. Collins's background prior to his gaining the living from Lady Catherine, compared with what he likely knew about me.

However, Mr. Collins's next words provided clarity. "Why did you leave me with my drunkard of a father who starved and beat me? Why did you not take me with you?" Strong emotion was etched in every tense line of Mr. Collin's face, hurt and accusation, pain and bitterness.

"I did what I could; I made sure you received your education," Bennet defended. However his argument was not made with the force and layered reasoning I was accustomed to hearing from him.

Mr. Collins crossed his arms and stared, glared at Mr. Bennet. I had never seen such courage, such opposition, to one he considered above him. Finally he declared emphatically, "It was not enough."

Bennet seemed to be contemplating the matter and then after a while nodded while looking embarrassed. "I was selfish. I have no true excuse. I knew your father was a miserly and illiterate man, and suspected he was a drunkard and overly harsh in his discipline of you. I knew I was wrong then to leave you when he offered you to me, but I valued my convenience, the harmony in my home more than you. Fanny would have resented you at first and given me grief, but I had the power to force the issue. Knowing her, how loving she was, in time she would have accepted it and been like a mother to you. I am sorry. I should have been a better man."

Mr. Collins pondered for a while. As he did so, I saw a change overcome his face as his anger and bitterness faded away. When the emotion left his face, he seemed tired, worn.

Finally Mr. Collins spoke, "I have been angry and resentful for years, but I will accept your apology and try to overcome it. After all, none are perfect but our Lord and his Son. It was my own father who failed me first. You were just one of many who did less than I needed."

I considered what it might have been like for Mr. Collins and the Bennet sisters if they had been raised with him. It was an amusing picture to be sure.

Mr. Collins's thoughts must have run in a similar path as he said, "My life would surely have been far different if you took me with you."

"I doubt you would have proposed to my daughter had you been raised with her," Bennet commented. "Perhaps you might have still married Miss Lucas or perhaps Mrs. Bennet would have dissuaded you as Mrs. Lucas was both her close friend and her rival."

Warming to the new topic I added, "If you had been raised as the heir to Longbourn, I doubt you would have ever been ordained or gained a living from Lady Catherine." Then I began thinking about how this change would have affected my life. Doubtless I would have still met Elizabeth when I came to Netherfield with Bingley, but without having her visiting the Collinses when I was in Kent, I likely never would have so much as voiced my admiration for her. If our only interaction after I left Hertfordshire was her touring Pemberley, nothing would have come of that. Lydia would have been left to her ruin and Elizabeth and all her sisters would have suffered the scorn of being her sister.

I could not help but exclaim, "It it likely selfish of me, Mr. Collins, but while your life might have been easier, I doubt I would have ever married Mrs. Darcy for much of our courtship took place in Kent when she was visiting you, and without her I cannot imagine being half as happy as I am."

"Perhaps all occurred as it should have, then." Mr. Collins replied in an even tone. "I would not trade my present happiness for an easier childhood."

We had no time to contemplate the matter further as Bingley (who had been talking with his steward, tenants and Gardiner while they all drank more and more), stood up and loudly cried out, "We must have more toasts!"

I was worried about what toasts he might give now as if I was not mistaken Bingley was already foxed. Bingley swayed slightly as he raised his goblet and declared, "Mr. Bennet, may you fill Lady Catherine up with your poker and may she be delivered of a bonny son!" Then he laughed at his own joke before sloshing most of his drink in his mouth although little rivulets escaped down the corners of his mouth and dripped down his shirt. He dried his face with a swipe of his sleeve (he and the others were mostly down to shirttails by then).

I was embarrassed and thought that likely Bennet was too, but I feared any comment I made would just encourage him (as that is what I had learned from my past interactions with Bingley when he is intoxicated, he talks far too much).

Bingley's steward, Mr. Cobb, replied, "It's been many years since her husband died, right? Likely she had nothing but cobwebs inside."

Bennet did not look pleased. "Mr. Cobb, take care now. You are talking about my soon to be wife."

"Would you prefer if she had another man's leavings there?" Mr. Cobb asked much too loudly, apparently having no sense of when to guard his tongue, such skill having vanished as the liquor grew low.

"Dust away" hiccup, hiccup, "Dust 'way," Mr. Grubber contributed. "Get rid" hiccup, "rid" hiccup, "of de cobwebs" hiccup, hiccup, hiccup, "so she be clean" hiccup, "for you."

"She had a lotta children, did she not?" Mr. Sams asked rhetorically. He was a shifty looking, grubby sort of man with threadbare, mud stained clothes and I had previously wondered why Bingley had anything much to do with him.

"Yes," said Collins soberly, apparently not understanding that Mr. Sams was mostly thinking aloud, "but they all died, they and her husband."

"Bad luck," hiccup, "bad luck," Mr. Grubber responded.

"So she is large down there?"

Mr. Bennet's face now bore a large frown. "I have been warning you!"

"Ah, well, perhaps you do not know," Bingley responded. "I s'pose Lady Cat has not let you have a ride yet."

Bennet was clearly angry now, his mouth a tight white line, his fists clenched as if he wished to fight. It was well that he was sober and let me put myself between him and the other men.

Mr. Cobb responded. "I wager her firebox will not be filled even with the largest yule log!" and then gave a braying laugh at his own joke.

By this time I had more than enough. Summoning a footman I declared, "I believe it is time for Mr. Bingley, Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams to go home; please see to it that their carriage is readied."

The drunk men did not seem to even notice my request at the time. When more footmen arrived to escort them out, Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams were compliant enough. "Isa fine party you had," declared Mr. Sams, who insisted on shaking my hand with his own which was sticky with spilled spirits. "Thank ye for 'aving us."

"Yes, I most kindly thank you," Mr. Cobb added.

Mr. Grubber hiccuped and added, "Your hospitality," hiccup, "so gen-" hiccup, "so gen-" hiccup, "gen'rous. Might I" hiccup, hiccup, " 'ave a flask," hiccup, "to keep" hiccup, hiccup, "to keep" hiccup, hiccup, "me warm" hiccup, "in Bing" hiccup, hiccup, "Bing-Bing's" hiccup "carriage?"

"Do you not think you are warm enough?" I asked.

Mr. Grubber attempted to keep his eyes focused on me and solemnly declared, "I got" hiccup, "naught" hiccup, hiccup, "but rot gut" hiccup, hiccup, hiccup "at home." As I was anxious to get them to gone, I sent him away with a small flask. He, Mr. Cobb and Mr. Sams went out with the footmen, but Bingley did not.

Bingley declared, "It is not time to go home yet! The night is yet young. Please, Darcy, let me stay!" By now he was grabbing at my shirt, looking up at pleadingly.

"Can you mind your manners?" I asked. "Can you refrain from talking about Lady Catherine."

He grabbed me with his other hand to steady himself. "Yes, Darcy, yes. Do not make me go!" His tone was wheedling, whining.

I relented, "All right." I then directed the remaining footman, "Instruct Bingley's coachman to take the others home and then return here."

Bingley grinned and then sat himself back down at the table and proceeded to drink straight from a bottle.

Mr. Bennet stood up and said, "I think it is time that I went back to the Bingley home. I should try to be rested for the morrow."

I nodded. "I am truly sorry for how things deteriorated at the end."

"It was a pleasant enough time," he told me, "and it is good that Collins and I were able to sort some things out."

Mr. Collins nodded and extended a hand to Mr. Bennet. They shook hands.

After Mr. Bennet left, Mr. Collins said, "I am afraid you are still stuck with me, assuming the ladies have not returned here yet." I had a footman check and soon received word that, indeed, they had not turned even though it was less than an hour until midnight.

The two of us sat back down at the table and then Bingley, who was well disguised by now, began to cry. It began as little sobs and sniffles but all too soon it was a steady stream of tears and snot was dripping down his face. I handed him a handkerchief and Mr. Collins did, too. Bingley ineffectively swiped at his nose, spreading the snot upon his cheek.

Finally, I took one of the handkerchiefs from him (I noted it must have been Mr. Collins's as it had his initials, a "W" and an "A" on either side of a larger "C") and wiped his face with it myself, as if he were Janey. He continued to cry, but it had lessened a bit.

"What is troubling you, Bingley?" I asked.

I was not certain if it was anything at all; perhaps it was just a result of all of the drinks he had. But, still, I did not want to ignore him if it was something other than that.

Bingley looked over at Mr. Collins with an unfocused gaze. I felt he was asking whether he could talk in front of Mr. Collins.

"You are among friends," Mr. Collins added. "I will keep anything you say to myself."

"It is not fair!" Bingley exclaimed. "You both have wives who love you."

"So do you," I told him. It was as I thought, the drink had made him cry even though nothing was truly wrong. He was talking nonsense.

"No she does not," he declared emphatically, then adding more quietly, "I ought to know."

When I would have reassured him again, Mr. Collins raised a hand to silence me. I nodded in acknowledgment, curious as to what Mr. Collins's approach would be. Mr. Collins asked in a gentle, reassuring tone, likely the tone he used with most parishioners come to ask advice, "Why do you think Mrs. Bingley does not love you?"

Bingley answered, "Her smile is all wrong when directed toward me, it never reaches her eyes and is nothing like what she gives our children. She does not want to be alone with me and even a gentle embrace makes her stiffen. Our marital duties are an imposition to her. She endures me, tolerates me, and nothing more."

I was struck dumb with his revelation. I thought back to all the times I had seen Bingley with Mrs. Bingley recently, reviewed how things were. At the picnic to celebrate Janey's birthday, she had not sat anywhere near Bingley. I recalled that Mrs. Bingley sat between my wife and Mrs. Gardiner while I was next to Elizabeth and Gardiner was beside his wife.

I tried to recall when I had seen them close to each other. The only occasion on which I could recall it, Mrs. Bingley had their younger child on her lap, and he came up and sat next to her. But when the child got down, Mrs. Bingley got up and sat beside Mr. Bennet, engaging her father in conversation.

I felt a tightness in my chest. _Had it been like this the whole time? _I cast my mind back earlier, to when the two of us were both engaged to the sisters and awaiting our joint wedding. Bingley and Miss Bennet seemed to be in love then, but Miss Bennet was far more restrained in her affections toward him than Elizabeth was toward me, or so it seemed. But of course Elizabeth and Jane were very different sorts of women from each other, with Jane being the far more restrained of the two. Elizabeth herself told me after we became engaged, "I think I am even happier than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh."

When Elizabeth refused me in Kent, she told me that I had ruined her beloved sister's happiness by dividing her from Bingley, thereby disappointing her hopes and making them both miserable. But as I thought of Lizzy's words, I recalled what she had not said. Elizabeth never said her sister loved Bingley.

When I wrote to Elizabeth to apologize, I told her that in observing her sister, after Sir William Lucas intimated that there was a general expectation that Bingley and Miss Bennet would wed, I saw no "symptoms of particular regard." However, then I acknowledged I was likely in error given Elizabeth's better knowledge of her sister.

Could it be that I was been right all along and Elizabeth was wrong? Or had my interference in separating them had caused a rift, changed the dynamic of what could have been? If the latter, had Miss Bennet then bowed to general expectations and her mother's desires, and decided to accept his addresses anyway?

By now Bingley's head was buried in his hands, his blond hair sticking out between his fingers, and I could see nothing of his face. He was no longer crying, instead he moaned as if he was determined to continue showing his distress. He sounds were pitiful and seemed more like those of a young child, determined to continue to be miserable, than those of a heart-broken man.

I had to know, "Did she love you when you married?"

Bingley pulled his head up, rubbed at his reddened eyes and said, "Jane said she did, I thought she did, but maybe I just wanted to believe that we would be happy, that her affection equaled my own. I told Jane everything, had no secrets from her, bared my soul to her, but the more I shared the more she pulled away. Slowly a distance grew but she never would talk to me about what was wrong. I am not a thinker, it took me a long time to see it, but I should have kept silent about certain things. Certainly I should never have told her about what I did in London after you and my sisters convinced me that she did not care for me." His tears were gone now and crusty remnants of them remained on his face. He looked embarrassed. "I should not have listened to anyone's counsel . . ."

I was ready to once again apologize for my interference when Bingley added, " . . . certainly not Hurst's."

"Hurst's? What advice did he give you?"

"Do you truly not recall?"

I tried to remember that time in London. I had only a vague recollection of what I was actually doing in those days. It was mostly me trying to fill time and ignoring my traitorous heart which bid me return to Hertfordshire to see a woman of almost no consequence who had lovely dark eyes and a lively wit. I spent a good deal of my days at the Hurst home with Bingley, his sisters and Mr. Hurst, or with them at my home.

Mr. Hurst was not my idea of good company, but as Bingley lived in his home, I could hardly fail to invite him to my own. But most of the time Mr. Hurst largely ignored me even as he was enjoying the fine things my money (and his) bought. Mr. Hurst was an indolent man who was too focused on fine food and spirits, and enjoying his naps to offer any advice. During the obligatory separation of the sexes he was a bit more lively as he liked to smoke cigars and talk about his past conquests. I recalled a time or two he had bemoaned the fact that he had not the funds to keep a mistress saying, "A man needs to escape from his wife sometimes, to have someone else who is devoted to his pleasures, will satisfy his every whim, and who will not give him the clap. It is hard to find a woman who is guaranteed to be clean on Drury Lane without spending more than one ought."

I remember wondering if Mr. Hurst was all talk or if it was his way of proving he was superior to Bingley and me (as he could not compete with my consequence and noble relations or Bingley's large inheritance and friendly nature which gained him many friends). I had never known Bingley to pay him any mind, save for to remind him, "Do not dishonor my sister."

But then a memory flashed in my mind. We had attended a play, but though it was a comedy Bingley hardly smiled. During the intermission Miss Bingley told us, "I see a woman who was a year behind me in at seminary, Miss Rose Byrd, and that man with her must be her brother."

I scanned the crowd, trying to make them out, for I knew the family, and soon enough my eyes alighted on Mr. John Byrd and his fair companion.

Miss Bingley continued, "Miss Byrd is just the sort you favor, Charles, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She is most eligible and comes from a very fine family. Her father is a baron and they have a pretty country estate but always come to town for the season. She would make a very fine sister. Charles, you must certainly meet her."

Bingley responded morosely (his petulant tone reminding me of my own foul mood at the Meryton Assembly), "I have no wish to venture out of our box to fawn over some insipid woman to satisfy you."

"The Byrds are a fine family, Bingley," I tried to encourage him. "I know her brother."

"Then I certainly should not meet then now, when I might be rude toward them, " Bingley countered.

Miss Bingley shook her head while momentarily closing her eyes, gave a sigh and then turned toward me and said, "Darcy, will you not escort me to meet them?"

I considered and having no strong objections was about to consent when she frowned, apparently performing some mental calculations about the risk that I might consider Miss Byrd marriageable for myself and rescinded her invitation, "Perhaps it is better if I leave you to try to cheer Charles. In any event, I shall go greet Miss Byrd and perhaps gain an introduction to her brother. Come along Louisa."

When it was just Bingley, Mr. Hurst and me, Hurst took a swig from a silver pocket flask and said, "Bingley, you need to do something about your feelings for Miss Bennet."

I half thought Mr. Hurst was going to suggest that Bingley ignore his sister's and my counsel, act a man and return to Netherfield to claim the woman of his desires, but his next words overthrew that notion. "I understand your temptation to wed and bed her, but there is another solution. You simply need to find another woman like her, indulge yourself and then find a more worthy marital prospect."

I did not remember Bingley making any particular response to Mr. Hurst's unsolicited advice and it never occurred to me that I needed to say anything to counter it as Bingley never seemed to give much credence to anything Mr. Hurst said. But desperate people often make poor choices.

In the present I looked at Bingley and asked, "You listened to him? But why?"

"I kept thinking about what Hurst said and talked to him more about it later. He seemed so certain that it would work, but it did not. It just made my value the object of my affections all the more. Every other woman was just a pale imitation of Jane and any momentary relief I gained was soon countered by guilt. But I had no hope until you confessed your mistake."


	21. Chapter 21

**In a certain synchronicity, I also posted Chapter 21 in another one of my stories.**

**Chapter 21: Lady Catherine's POV: Married to my Love**

My bridegroom Tom was waiting in the church, standing as tall as he could manage, when I glided forward on Darcy's arm. I saw every detail of my beloved husband to be: his carefully pressed dark clothes with my favorite waistcoat, an olive green which highlighted the slight green tint to his otherwise dark eyes, his freshly trimmed beard, the deep wrinkles upon his brow which softened upon seeing me, his gloved hand worrying a hanky which he quickly stowed behind him in the pocket of his coat. I fancied the handkerchief was the one I had sent to him via Mrs. Bingley.

Yet even as my eyes were filled with observing Tom, there was a cacophony of other sensations, as if all my senses were heightened. I felt the soft wool of Darcy's coat even through my kid gloves; smelled the scent of horse upon him along with that of his soap. I touched the bump cold stone floor of the church with my feet, even though it was separated from me by slippery sensation of my new slippers as I walked almost soundless, like the padding of a cat, but I could yet hear that, my steps so much quieter than Darcy's clomping. _Had he always walked so loudly?_

I both felt and heard the swish-rustle of my brocade pink dress against my legs, felt how it rubbed upon my chest through my shift, making me too aware of how the cold had stiffened my nipples. The distinct sound of my dress, like all the others, was very noticeable even above the gentle murmur of those present to witness our wedding. Too, there was a slight tickle from the ribbon that bound my bonnet to my head; the bonnet itself felt both stiff and weighty. I felt inward sensations as well, a sort of twisty excited stirring in my middle, the squeezing of my chest with every breath I took, accompanied by the too fast thumping of my heart.

Tastes also lingered in my mouth, recalling to me the oval silver tray with dainty handles on which Parker had brought me a small repast upon my first waking, flashing as the light from a candle hit it. I still tasted the overly browned dry toast. I could still see her Parker's dear face, as familiar to me as my own, both smiling and with tension tightening her brow, undoubtedly aware that with my marriage everything would shift between us, could hear her telling me, in a no-nonsense tone that was both happy and concerned, "Ma'am, it will be best if you have something upon your stomach." There also remained a slight tang of tea unflavored by sugar as I preferred in the morning, bitter on my tongue.

As I came closer to Tom, step by step with my noisy pounding escort, Tom's dear face turned toward me, eyes wide, a slight decorous smile upon his face (as if he was trying to keep himself from unseemly grinning). As soon as I was close enough to almost touch him, the smile won out and flashed widely enough for my to count his teeth before he tamed it by pulling his lips together, but the crinkle by his dark eyes remained.

A moment later I was before Tom, standing with him and facing Mr. Collins, hearing Darcy walk away and taking the horse and soap smell with him. Now I smelled pipe and old books from Tom and a slightly sweaty-earthy smell that must be coming from Mr. Collins. I watched every tick of Tom's face as he reacted to me and the words of the ceremony. The familiar words did not hold my attention compared with seeing Tom's every slight alteration in expression. Although he had told me that he loved me, I sought the confirmation in his face. We had agreed to as simple a ceremony as the Book of Common Order would allow and soon we were saying our vows. Almost all that was left was to receive his ring and hear a final prayer.

I recalled the difficulty I had just days earlier in removing Lewis's ring from my finger. Dawson had tried holding my finger above my head and then rubbing my finger with butter, but it was still stuck just below my knuckle. Despairing in her efforts, Dawson consulted with Mrs. Reynolds. The Darcy housekeeper soaked my hand in a bowl of cold water chilled with ice from the ice-house, dried it well, rubbed my finger from tip to base, wrapped a string around my finger, holding it tight as she again raised my hand aloft. After a few minutes wait, as I tried to ignore the burning pressure as my hand began to warm, this was what finally worked as she tortuously spun it free: ouch, relief, absent. I inspected my bare ring finger, gazing upon the thick white line and the indentation at that line. It seemed as if the rest of my finger had thickened around the ring, as a tree will sometimes grow around a tight rope, causing a stricture. But as the day wore on my finger began to adjust, to smooth, until the only evidence of my previous marriage was the wide white line.

I found in the days that followed that I kept rubbing at the baby-soft white strip of skin. I recalled when I first became Mr. de Bourgh's wife how heavy his sapphire ring felt and how I was constantly twisting it back and forth (although I never removed it, not even when my fingers swelled during pregnancy).

Once that ring was removed it felt strange to be free of the cage of being wife to a man that did not love me. But I did not wish for my finger to remain bare; I longed for Tom's ring. There would be weight, solid proof, but it would lighten me rather than burden me.

My wish was granted that day. Tom plucked my left hand up with his own left hand, but I was only half aware of it as I was caught up in seeing his eyes, so close to mine, twin dark islands with large black ponds at the center. Tom stared at me, hardly blinking. The moment stretched on, both too long and too short and I felt my legs tremble. But then he looked down as he touched my new ring to the tip of my finger and then slid it down, his fingers sliding along my finger with the ring.

I had a sudden sensuous thought. The ring was me and my finger was him. I was hollow, empty, waiting to be possessed, to be filled, and though he had not yet possessed my body he had claimed me.

Then Tom left the ring on my finger. However before I could spare the ring more than a glance (it looked like a gold braid with tiny gems), he enfolded my hand between both of his. He held my hand gently but firmly, telling me with that gesture and his steady eyes fixed upon me, _I will never let you go. _But this was not a prison sentence, rather it was freedom. In becoming his wife I was gaining love, devotion, belonging, purpose, ongoing hope and the end of loneliness.

I could not help but compare how it was with Mr. de Bourgh, who had shoved his ring down my finger with speed (scratching the slightly turned stone against my pinky finger, drawing a hiss of pain from me) and then let my hand drop. I had been shackled like a horse in harness; bound to serve my master.

The ring from Tom felt light, almost gossamer on my finger, like the strands of grass I had wrapped around it when still a young girl playing at being married. That young girl told me, _You took long enough, but finally you got it right._

And then, somehow the ceremony was over and Tom was dropping a kiss upon my hand, whispering softly for only my ears, "Oh, Beloved, I love you so!" before placing my hand upon the crook of his arm and walking us out the church doors. _I was married!_

I received many wishes for my happiness and somehow ended up crammed in a carriage with the Darcys, including Georgiana, and across from Tom. How much I wanted a moment with him alone!

The wedding breakfast felt a crush and I struggled to be polite. Finally people began bidding me adieu. Dawson found me and told me, "Lady Catherine, you should refresh yourself; I have been told Mr. Bennet is anxious to depart."

"Depart?" I was horribly confused.

"Yes, for your wedding trip." She tolerantly clucked. "I supposed you were distracted when Mrs. Darcy was telling you about it this morning. You are off to the lakes for a fortnight so that they may ready your permanent chambers."

I then had a vague recollection of the conversation and went with Dawson towards my old room. "Oh, there is so much to do!"

"No, there is not." She gently corrected. "While you were getting married and celebrating, I have packed just what you would want. Your trunk is already stowed. The Darcys have fixed both your carriages and harnessed fine steeds. All that is missing is for you to be ready to go."

By this time we were in my room. I retreated to the necessary and then washed my hands in the basin Dawson had filled with water. When that was done I spent a few minutes examining my face in the looking glass. Although I felt there should be a monumental change in my visage, I looked much the same as I always did, though perhaps my forehead was a bit smoother, my lips holding a slight smile even with repose.

But then my eyes traveled up to survey my hair. Earlier I had removed my bonnet and it would need to be replaced ere I could go, but with it gone I was free to examine my hair. It still looked fine despite how quickly I had removed my bonnet. As I had been wearing my wig for many a year, with it being one of the first things I put on each morning, it almost felt as if it was my true hair, but I knew it was not.

When I had imagined our wedding night, mine and Tom's, I had not particularly thought about my hair. I wondered, _Should I keep my hair on? _I worried he would be disappointed if he saw my clipped hair and might wonder what other secrets I had kept from him.

When I emerged and met Tom in the salon, he smiled at me and I rushed toward him. Although my fears lingered, I could not wait to be alone with him in the carriage and I dare say he felt the same. Very quickly he helped me mount the carriage and once he joined me (the two of us sitting side by side in the front facing seat) I expected him to tap on the roof of the carriage to signal we were ready to be off.

"There is something I think I should raise with you, " he told me , holding my gloved hand with his own, "but I am selfishly hesitating."

"Whatever is it Tom?"

"Has it occurred to you that for us to be alone that, it means that your maid and my man will be alone together also?"

I thought about this a while, "But they are our servants and hardly younger than us. Surely no one would think there was anything untoward between them in them riding apart from us so we may have privacy as a newlywed couple."

"Just as no one worried about leaving us alone? " He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

I responded, "If truth be told, I rather think Parker might fancy Roberts." I remembered seeing her eyes follow him on more than one occasion. "However, this is just speculation on my part; she has not confided in me. She has never been married, has been with me since I was a young woman in my father's house."

"Interesting," Tom nodded, "I rather think the same might be true of how Roberts regards her. He was married once, but his wife died in childbirth, along with their first child. That was before he began to attend me, more than twenty years ago."

"In that case," I responded, "would it be awful if we just signaled to go and left them alone to see if something might come of it? I suppose it comes from being freshly married," we exchanged quick grins and Tom held my hand tighter, "but I rather think more people ought to marry. As neither has voiced any objections, as long as you have no reason to think he would trifle with her. . . . I think it might suit us and them very well indeed if they had some uninterrupted time alone. Not, you understand, to engage in any sinful behavior, but just to talk and such."

"Very well, " Tom rapped on the carriage and with a jerk, we were off. I leaned against the glass and waved goodbye to the Darcys who were standing in the drive to see us off.

"That was rather my preference," Tom told me. "I hope, however, that you do not expect your new husband to be content with only conversation."

I said nothing for a moment. I was still turned away from Tom looking out the window and I felt my cheeks grow hot, as if I were a young maiden and not a woman of more than five decades. Not trusting myself to not embarrass myself if I spoke, I closed the carriage curtains on my side and heard Tom do likewise. I carefully untied my bonnet and laid it on the backward facing seat and he did likewise with his beaver. We also stripped off our coats (the both of us needing assistance from each other which we most politely requested) and placed them likewise on the other seat.

Then we turned toward each other in the relative darkness. I am not sure if one of us might have been a hair quicker than one another (likely me) or if it was simultaneous, but we sprung at each other like two jack-in-the-boxes. At first we simply kissed and held each other tight, but then we halted a moment as Tom and then I pulled off each other's gloves and cast them aside, careless of where they dropped. For that was nothing to worry about; surely they would later be found inside the carriage.

After that Tom and I lost almost all restraint. We kissed deeper and longer, and oh how our hands roamed, his sliding over my clothed body, lingering in my chest and rear, mine down his chest and lower until I found the raging monster waiting for me. Tom groaned with pleasure and that sound almost undid me. Then it was all a flurry of sensation and want. We kissed, caressed and stroked each other in the most wanton manner. While we kept our clothes on, that did not mean that as time went on we did not open, lift, and delve under those articles of clothing that separated us from bare skin.

It was all very delightful, but also somewhat frustrating. Although we did not engage in the act, I rather feared that anyone who saw our rumpled appearance would think we had. But still, that was not enough to restrain me or him (if Tom even thought of such things). Still, when we finally arrived at the inn, we quickly donned our outer clothing and I did not worry overly much. However awful I might look, it was well worth it to see his relaxed and happy face as revealed when we opened the carriage curtains once again. I proudly walked inside on Tom's arm, most eager to gain our rooms and do what could not be done in the carriage.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Mrs. Darcy's POV**

I stood for a few minutes outside Pemberley with my husband at my side watching the two carriages depart that were taking my father and new mother on their wedding trip. I turned back toward our home when the carriages were out of view but the dust had not yet settled.

My husband let me have several moments of quiet introspection afterwards, but once we gained the foyer Fitz said, "Now we are doubly related." I took a moment to think about that. As my father was now his step-uncle, Fitz was now my step-cousin as well as my husband. He added, "They are well and truly married and, due to your efforts, they have been most successfully welcomed into society with the most grand wedding breakfast I have seen, bar perhaps our own. Now what should we do with the rest our day, my dear?"

I appreciated his compliment to my own hostessing skills, all the while trying not to think about how Mama had hosted our own wedding breakfast. I deprecated, "I did very little, only made all feel welcome. Given my condition Mrs. Reynolds handled all the arrangement save for a quick consultation as to the menu and the color for the decorations. She, Mrs. Richards and our staff did all the hard work and are deserving of your praise."

I added, "Perhaps we may go to our private sitting room. Now that the festivities are over, there is a situation I wish to tell you about."

When we reached our sanctuary with its green curtains, warm fireplace and locked door, he inquired, "Darling, what is on your mind? I hope it is not another dispute between the servants."

"No, nothing of the sort. I wish it were for that would easier to solve." I sat down upon the sofa and he joined me. Fitz patted his lap which was his gesture to suggest that I should place my legs across him. With some difficulty I swiveled, my swelling belly making the movement more awkward.

My husband helped me right my twisted skirt, removing my slippers with practiced ease and then lightly rubbed my feet through my stockings. Then he moved his hands up, sliding them along my ankles and then calves. I contentedly sighed. His touch was both reassuring and sensual, and I felt a desire to put off the needed conversation. "Um," I sighed. He swept his practiced fingers along the ribbons that tied my right stocking on, just above my right knee.

"Might I remove these?"

As this was often a prelude to marital intimacies, I told him regretfully, "Not just now. I have a real problem and I need your help."

My husband removed his hands from beneath my skirt and tugged the hem down. "So what sort of Gordian knot are you facing?" Fitz asked me, gently rubbing the top of one of my thighs through my skirt. His touch was now more reassuring then tantalizing, but still I felt a soft flame of desire which could quickly be stoked to an inferno, should I let it.

With difficulty I pulled his hand away. "Stop distracting me. I need to get my thoughts in order."

"As you wish. What is it?" Concern touched his eyes.

"It's the Bingleys. Jane confided in me, during Lady Catherine's hen party, that things are not right between them. Fitz, she is terribly unhappy and I feel we must do whatever is within our power to make things right between them."

Fitz picked up my hand and leaned over toward me, placing a kiss on the back of my hand. "Dearest, Bingley is unhappy, too. He told me and Mr. Collins all about it last night. He loves Jane but he has bungled the whole thing up. I cannot but think I am partially to blame, for had I not sided with his sisters he would have returned to Netherfield and sought Jane's hand then rather than sought comfort elsewhere."

I felt a tightness in my stomach. I asked, "She alluded to it, but what exactly did _he_ do? Jane did not really say where he found such comfort or how it occurred."

Fitz hesitated. "I'm not certain I should be talking about this. "

"What is more important," I asked, annoyed, "a misplaced sense of loyalty among men or trying to fix what is awry? They need our help."

Fitz said, "I am afraid that we will have a row. Undoubtedly you will take Jane's side while I will be tempted to stand up for my friend."

"Perhaps," I owned, "but we will get over it, I am sure."

"That is just it," said he. "A woman who loves her husband forgives. After all, how many times have you forgiven me?"

Fitz paused to kiss my hand again. "Undoubtedly Bingley has erred, but Jane has been punishing him since then, has not ever seen fit to forgive him. He believes she does not love him and by her actions I would say she has proven him right."

"That is not true!" I insisted, feeling angry, but unwilling to prove him right by fighting, and so took a moment to temper my response, to try to sound reasonable. "I know Jane and she does love him."

"She shows it oddly then," he said calmly and his very calmness annoyed me. Fitz must have seen something of how I was feeling as he took a moment to gently rub my legs before adding, "Bingley says Jane does not want him to touch her, shows far more warmth to the children than to him. Men are needy creatures and while he may not have told her so, her rejection hurts him deeply."

I took time to consider what my husband said, to not dismiss it out of turn. I responded, "I do not think love is the problem at all. Rather it is that she cannot trust him, to value her as she wishes to be valued. Although she did not say it, I think she is afraid of his rejection."

Fitz's forehead creased, "That does not make any sense at all. She is the one pushing him away."

"Perhaps it may appear that way to him," I told my husband, trying and failing not to sound annoyed, "but I think it is her way of protecting herself. Jane tells me that Bingley is absent most evenings; she suspects he has a mistress or perhaps has an arrangement with a merry widow."

"Poppycock!" Fitz looked annoyed. "A wife should not assume the worst about her husband. I suspect he is merely seeking comfort in the company of friends," Fitz responded. "Why Bingley brought three men to your father's stag party when none but Bingley was invited."

I felt the tension between us grow and felt uncomfortable now to have my legs across him, I slid them down off him, placed my feet upon the floor and sat up straighter. He gave me an annoyed look when I withdrew my legs, but made no move to hold my hand or otherwise soothe me. I felt the familiar movement in my middle and so rubbed at the swell, deriving comfort from that small life.

"Still," I told him, "should not a husband endeavor to show his wife devotion, to help her know that no one is more important to him? Bingley failed her by leaving when they had an understanding." I saw Fitz's eyes widen, apparently Bingley had not told him that detail but to be fair to Bingley I added, "While it was not exactly formalized from the words that they exchanged it all but was and it was not easy for my sister to be so forthcoming with him. That trust was broken when he did not return to Netherfield and then . . . "

It was hard for me to speak about what he had done to her. I was not sure if Bingley had told my husband what he did when he was gone; perhaps he had and that was something he did not want to share with me, but I was determined to bring it up. "Then he found someone else to help him forget her. I understand that men have their passions, but why did he think he needed to tell his new wife all about what he had done? It was poorly done."

Fitz responded, "It was not his finest hour. Certainly it would be better if he had not acted this way and discretion afterwards would have been best, but can you not see how he abhorred lying to her? Bingley cannot keep a secret to save his life."

"Well he made quite a mess of it. Can you not understand why she does not trust him? The misery she had in being separated from him must pale compared to the misery of being married to him but not really having him. It is like an arranged marriage without the respect, but far more hurt."

"Well what should he do to make things right?" Fitz asked me. His eyes looked sad. "If he loves her half as much as I love you, he must be in abject misery."

I shook my head, "Honestly, I am not sure, except that they need to talk with each other, let it all out and try to start again."

"That sounds easier said than done," he responded.

I shrugged. I agreed with him. "I wish Lady Catherine was about. Surely she would know what to do." As we were no longer disagreeing, I shifted a little closer to him. In response he placed an arm around me.

"Well, they will return in two weeks," Fitz responded, rubbing my shoulder. "Still, I do not wish to sit idly by. Lady Catherine is not closely connected with either one of them so it seems to me that we should make an effort to do something."

"Does not being step-mother to Jane and me count? Even if Lady Catherine was no relation at all, I doubt that she would hesitate to interfere."

"You may certainly raise the matter with her when they return, should we not have any success," Fitz told me. "We can think about all this further, can we not?"

I nodded. He leaned closer and kissed my cheek and then turned my face toward him with his hand. I could tell he was about to kiss me. I leaned in and we shared a hungry kiss. Somehow knowing how precious marital harmony was, made us cling to each other with more urgency than before.

He broke the kiss and stood up, drawing me up with him. "Do you not think it is time for a nap, Mrs. Darcy?" Fitz asked me with an intense look that told me napping was unlikely to be the activity that he wished to partake of, at least not until after a more pleasant interlude.

"Indeed," I told him, anticipating his touch, already wanting him.

He gave a little nod and then bent down and picked up my slippers. In my stocking feet, I walked beside him. As the sitting room was off of our chambers, there was not far to go. We went inside and he walked me to our bed. He left me sitting on one edge as he went to lock the doors.

When he returned he acted as maid to me and I was as valet to him, divesting each other of our clothing (although in the process many kisses and lingering touches were exchanged between us so it was nothing like having a maid undress me or a valet undress him). With every stroke of our hands along each other's bodies, I felt my anticipation grow. When we were bare before each other, he pulled me atop him. He said, "In those first few weeks after we were married, I would have never dared to do this." I nodded, remembering how little I had known then of all the ways we could give each other joy. I sat upon him and slid my hands though his dark chest hair. I reveled in how his body was so different from my own and how much he enjoyed my touch.

Perhaps I should have been self-conscious about my growing middle, but I was not. His hands were not idle, stroking all over my front and sides. He groaned deeply as I took him in me and I moaned my own delight. In the light of day I could see all his desire, joy and fulfillment as we moved together. It was very good and sensation and feeling captured all my attention. It was about this moment and nothing else seemed important.

It was only after we were done and I was relaxing into a nap, on my left side with my beloved behind me, his right arm draped over me, gently stroking my belly and my breasts, as my eyes were closing, that I thought for a moment about my sister. But soon enough sleep claimed me and I knew nothing until Fitz roused me saying, "Darling, it is almost time to dress for dinner." I groaned, unwilling to get up. In the end we had the meal brought to us. I felt a little bad that we were not dining with my sister, but not badly enough to get up; after all, was that not what her companion was for? When I roused again it was the middle of the night and while drowsy we took pleasure in each other again. Afterwards, my sister was the furthest thing from my mind.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Mr. Bingley's POV: If Only She Would Scream At Me**

On the morning when Mr. Bennet was to wed Lady Catherine, I had all the symptoms of my over indulgence at the stag party. My head pounded, the light burned my eyes and increased my discomfort, my mouth was filled with my own sour bile which I quickly swallowed down into my rolling stomach which momentarily acted as if it might rebel but instead expelled a loud sour burp. With all of these symptoms, I felt very ill indeed and the last thing I wished to was to get up, be dressed, walk around, deal with a jarring carriage ride, sit on a hard pew and try to stay awake during a wedding ceremony conducted by Mr. Collins. When my valet attempted to get me to rise I refused, pulling the covers over my head to block out the offensive light.

Soon thereafter my wife appeared as I knew she would. Jane pulled the counterpane down until my face was revealed and said simply, "It is time to get up to attend the wedding."

I was rather grumpy and gave into my desire to be antagonistic. "I will not attend! I refuse. There is no need; Jane, you cannot require it of me. They are perfectly capable of getting married without me."

"Still, I would have my husband attend with me," she countered. Her voice grated on my sensitive ears and I squinted at her for it was far too bright. I searched her visage for some emotion. While there were at least little hints that she was annoyed, she was very controlled, as she always is. I noted that she was dressed in a yellow gown, apparently already ready to depart.

If Jane had been angry, I might have resisted more, but as it was I flung back the bedding and arose. As the previous night I arrived long after my valet was abed and had no desire to summon him to remove the clothing upon which I had cast up my accounts when the carriage ride proved to be rougher than my stomach could endure, I had done no more than shed the offensive clothing and collapsed.

I took a perverse pleasure in forcing my wife to see me in all my glory (although my glory was not as impressive as it usually was first thing in the morning, drinking too much tends to counter its natural inclinations). She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. I saw her eyes widen, a blush suffuse that part of her face I could see, and she took a step back. And as unlikely as it was while still suffering from my affliction, my member sprang forth. She quickly averted her eyes.

I thought back to all our marital interactions. Jane was very shy on our wedding night, and so I remained in my nightshirt and she remained in her nightgown. It felt like she more endured my touch than enjoyed it that first night for all that she was a dutiful wife. In the morning after I was already dressed, I returned and insisted she remove her nightgown so that I could look at her, but she still tried to conceal herself until I insisted.

Jane was so very lovely, especially while blushing. Every part of her was pleasing to me, from her light pink nipples, to her slim ankles. Although I had merely meant to look, to see what I had long wished to see revealed, to see if it matched my imagination, I found my body stirring once again. I confess that I took her again with very little preparation while she tried her best to avoid looking at me, first looking as far up as she could so as to not spy me, and then shutting her eyes as I plucked at her breasts.

That was the last time I really saw all of Jane. She was very modest and even as time went on she always held the counterpane over us and insisted that all the candles be blown out. It seemed she did not wish to either see me or for me to see her during our interactions. I became more familiar with her form by touch than sight. I treasured the little glimpses I saw, though they were rare.

Our marital interactions gradually improved in those first few days and if she did not delight in my taking my pleasure of her in the same way and degree as I did, she at least seemed to relish being held afterwards. I suspected, however, that Jane held back. That something was preventing her from being willing to enjoy our joinings. While I had no difficulty in performing despite her diffidence, to claim again and again that which finally belonged to me, I wondered whether somehow she knew what I had done. Likely that was irrational, but still it tormented me. I did not wish to have secrets from her.

Impulsively I decided to tell her, after she explained about her monthlies. She was embarrassed but still she had told me what she needed to tell me. I wished that I could be as honest as she. I was laying beside her in her bed, Jane in her nightgown and me still fully dressed. My dear Jane was nestled against me, her back against my chest as I lightly stroked her arm.

I fumbled my words, did not say it as I should have said it. "Dear Jane, there is something I must tell you. While I was away in London, despairing over losing you, well I did not act in the way that a gentleman should." Jane turned over and toward me. She slid her hand along my face. I was not sure how I could tell her, but I continued, "It has been eating me up inside, not telling you the truth. You see . . ." I had to look away, there was no other way I could tell her " . . . a time, or two, or three when we were apart, I enjoyed the company of paid women."

There were other things I should have said. I should have told her that I was wrong to act as I did, begged for her forgiveness and told her how much I loved her. I should have told her that I was done letting other people tell me how to act, that I had learned my lesson and would not be weak again.

Jane pulled herself from my embrace and got up out of her bed. She turned to look at me, and by the light through the curtain I could see that her eyes were wide, her posture stiff with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hands gripping the opposite upper arms. Then she bent forward a little, trembling, and began gasping like a dying fish on the bottom of a boat. It was clear that she had no prior idea about what I had done.

I arose myself, wishing to comfort her, to take her in my arms. Jane backed away from me until her back was against a wall. I plucked her outer hand from her shoulder with my hand. I heard myself say, "Believe me, Jane, I only thought of you and all I thought I had lost, but in doing so clung onto needing physical comfort. A friend suggested it might help me to get over you." I know my words were all wrong, were self-indulgent, but still I continued on. "I feel so much better now, having told you the truth. Believe me, although many of my friends see nothing wrong in taking a mistress or paying for occasional comfort, I will not do that again, now that we are married."

Her silence was tormenting me. I begged her, "Please, Jane, say that you understand, that you forgive me. You are my angel, sent to me from heaven."

There was such an uncertainty in her eyes, but finally she responded, "I forgive you."

I was not sure if she meant it, but I grabbed her in my arms and held her very tightly. She stayed stiff in my arms but did not resist my embrace. I told her, and I meant what I said, "Jane, you are too good. I do not deserve you."

For a long time, it was only me hugging her. While she had relaxed somewhat, she remained passive. Finally she rubbed my back a bit.

I did not think I was truly forgiven, but I was desperate for some normality. I led her back to her bed and climbed in beside her and pulled her bedding over us.

She turned away from me, lying on her side. She was well mannered enough not to tell me to leave, but everything in how she was acting, told me that she wanted me to go.

I did not want to leave her upset; I wanted to talk it out, to hear her yell and scream at me and then receive her true forgiveness. However, I was not brave in that moment and so said, "Good night Jane," arose and went back to my own room to prepare for bed. Now in looking back upon it, clearly I was mistaken to leave. If only I could have gotten her to talk to me!

I saw Jane at breakfast that morning and she was as pleasant as always. She showed no signs of her previous distress. The only obvious difference was that never once did she call me Charles, I was now just Mr. Bingley. I decided to leave it be.

I visited her chambers again two nights hence. I begged her to touch me and she allowed me to move her hand over my member, to show her what I desired. She touched me in a tentative manner. While she was accommodating she was not particularly warm, but eventually she was able to give me a release.

Afterwards, when I tried to hold her, she wiggled a little bit away and I had to shimmy myself up to her. Jane let me hold her, made no complaint. I thought that perhaps she was still angry, but that it might take her a while to forgive me, but nothing was ever the same after that. She allowed me my rights but gave nothing of herself beyond that.

During the day, Jane was diligent in fulfilling her duties as the mistress. She ran the house, planned the meals, dealt with the household staff, arranged schemes to satisfy our guests. If sometimes I wished she was less busy, that she might have more time for me, I could not fault how well she saw to everything, how kind she always was to Caroline.

When Darcy told me about how I could please my wife, I was eager to see if this might help. After kissing her for a long time while stroking her dairy through the gown, I pulled her gown up high enough that I might touch her between her legs. While she made no sounds of delight, I could hear her breathing grow faster, could feel how wet she had become. After a good long time of this, I was feeling a burning in my groin, a heady almost overwhelming desire to plunge into her waters. I knew I had to resist in order to give her the pleasure she richly deserved. I burrowed under the covers, tracing my way up her thighs to her apex where I proceeded to kiss, and suck and fondle, until my face and fingers were drenched. I was terribly hot under there and I could barely breath, but I was sensible that her normal modesty would not allow me to see her uncovered.

Although Jane shuddered a time or two (with pleasure I thought), she still made no sound, did nothing to encourage my plundering. I so wished to give her that ultimate pleasure, but it did not seem achievable, at least not then. Finally, when I felt quite lightheaded and liable to faint, I withdrew my head from down below and climbed upon her. I slid so easily upon the path prepared for me and to my great satisfaction she wrapped her legs around me, pulling me still deeper into her depths. I felt such a great joy, much deeper than mere physical satisfaction, and in just a few strokes gave into my need. I did not want to leave her, even after I softened, but finally withdrew. I had such hope then that things would be different. I held her most of that night, dosing intermittently, anxious to see her face at dawn.

Whatever I had hoped to see in her face in the morning, it was not there. She was still stiff and impassive.

While that first evening was good, I was determined to give Jane more. Every night that week I visited her and sought to give her pleasure. She never told me what she liked best, but she seemed to enjoy my ministrations.

On Saturday, I unbuttoned enough buttons from the neckline down her chest to take suck, while stroking her below. I had only done this for a few minutes, had hardly gotten started, when she gave a deep moan and told me, "That was wonderful. You have given me pleasure I never knew I could feel."

"Ultimate pleasure?" I asked her.

Jane's face was turned away from me and I could just see the long column of her neck, the snaking cord of her blonde braid. I was not sure if she was embarrassed or trying to hide how she was feeling. She declared, "Yes, very much so."

It seemed too good to be true. I felt perhaps it was because when I climbed a top her and slid into her depths she was less wet than before. However, I tried to push my doubt aside, reasoning that the female body was still very much a mystery to me. That night I stayed in her bed and she never pulled away.

When morning finally came, I could not resist kissing along her face and neck. It seemed to me, at least in her sleeping state that she was welcoming my attentions. To my regret I noted that sometime during the night she had refastened her buttons, but I still drew my hand along her clothed bosom and she leaned toward me. I could not resist capturing her lips with mine and she moaned into our kiss, let my tongue sweep inside. I was uncaring that her breath was stale, for she was responding to me. I wanted to rouse the passion I felt she was experiencing the night before, to see if I could give her true satisfaction again. But when she fully roused, she pulled away from me and said, "Mr. Bingley, my maid will be here soon. It would be well if you went back to your own bed."

I regretfully left. In the nights that followed when I visited her bed, she urged me upon her before I felt she had gained much satisfaction at all. She seemed more interested in my finishing and then leaving her alone. She had begun telling me, "I have trouble sleeping when you remain here."

One evening when I regained my own room perhaps only fifteen minutes after I had crept into her bed, I hid myself in my own bed and hot, angry tears mingled with tears of heartbreak. I sobbed, I moaned. I whispered into my pillow, "How can my beloved wife, my darling Jane, be so indifferent to me? Why cannot she want me as I want her, why does she not understand how much I love her, how much I simply want to hold her? Were Darcy and my sisters right all along, does she care nothing for me?"

I did not want our marriage undone, but I wanted her love, which had never seemed more impossible than it did just then. I recalled how I had tried so many times to show her how I felt, giving her generous pin money, buying her presents, even moving to be closer to her beloved sister and away from her pestering mother. It was not that she did not notice such things. She would say, usually in front of other people, "Mr. Bingley you are very good to me" or "Mr. Bingley, why you certainly take your husbandly responsibilities most seriously." But her heart did not seem to be touched no matter what I did.

When it was evident that Jane was with child as confirmed by the midwife, she told me with what seemed to be a certain amount of satisfaction, "Mr. Bingley, I have done my duty to you. I shall not turn you away but neither need you visit me." She was true to her word and let me have what I wanted (which I tried to limit as that was evidently her preference). I still desired her greatly, even when she was large with child, while she remained indifferent.

After Franny was born I took a great deal of satisfaction in seeing how dearly my wife adored her, but I also felt a sort of envy that my daughter earned so many smiles, such affection from my wife. I was jealous of her time being spent with my daughter instead of me.

When the midwife told us we could resume our normal marital activities, Jane told me, "I am ready to fulfill all my responsibilities. Mr. Bingley, I know you want a son and I shall do my best to see that you have one no matter how many children it may take to get him. I only hope it does not require half a dozen children." While I cannot say she was exactly more eager for my touch, she occasionally placed her arms around me during the act or ruffled her hands through my hair. When I held her afterwards she might tell me, "I hope your efforts have born fruit. I should like to have another child, to give you the son every man deserves."

But after our son was born and she was again fit for marital intimacies, Jane said, "I have done what was required. I see no need for more children. In truth, I would prefer sleep to trying to obtain more."

I responded, "Did you not like having four sisters? I was glad to have my sisters, but I would have liked to have a brother also."

Jane replied, "I shall never deny you your rights and another child might come eventually, but I hardly think the same efforts are required now that you have son."

"What are you saying, do you wish to schedule our interactions?" I badly wanted her to say "no" but that was not her reply.

"Yes, it would be nice to know when to expect you. Mr. Bingley, what is the minimum which would be enough for you? Can you limit yourself to coming to visit me once a week?" She sounded so cold when she said that.

"That would be rather difficult," I told her. I did not want to have to toss off myself. "But I suppose twice a week might suffice."

Before I knew it, we had worked out a schedule. A schedule! And when I did visit her, often she told me she wanted to satisfy me with her mouth rather than where I would have rather been. She always closed her eyes before she sought me out under the covers. I had the sense that she found this easier, to not have me touch her, to not let me try to give her pleasure. This was never how I thought it would be.

Perhaps I was emboldened by my overindulgence during the stag party, but that morning I had no compunction in showing Jane my bits or in showing her my desire. I told her, emotion thick on my tongue, "Jane, I hoped I would drink so much that no one could rouse me this morning. The last thing I want to do is to attend a wedding, to see other people that might be happy, to see all that I thought I would have but yet somehow lost. Why can you not forgive me for how I erred? It happened years ago and I have never dishonored our wedding vows. I was not a strong man, but I have tried to do better. Did you feel so little for me when you married me that one mistake could wipe it all away?"

For a moment, I thought that Jane might answer me, might telling me truthfully what she was thinking. Her pink lips separated a bit (the tone of them always reminded me of her seldom glimpsed nipples) but had not yet begun to form a word. But then she exerted control from well within her and carefully closed her mouth.

There was silence for several seconds and then Jane opened her lips up again and spoke. Her words, as they usually are, were gentle. "Mr. Bingley, it is evident you are overwrought. You may stay abed. I will make your excuses and pass along your regards."

Jane turned quickly and the edge of her yellow skirt swept against one my my ankles as she brushed past me and left my room for hers through the connecting door.

I felt myself sway and sat heavily upon the bed. I was undecided as to what I should do. But the effort of getting ready and going to attend the wedding seemed too much if she did not want my presence anymore. So instead I lay back down and stared at the wallpaper until eventually I fell back asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 23: Mr. Bennett's POV: Finally, We Belong Fully to One Another**

While I had long known Lady Catherine was a passionate woman, I had not expected her to be so free in expressing her passion during our carriage ride and it was a near thing that I did not lose all restraint and take her on the road. I was grateful that my advancing years gave me a modicum of self restraint, for I wished to do things properly.

I resolved as Lady Catherine helped me back into my coat, that I would give her all the joy I could before we coupled. I had no doubt that on this occasion I would be able to perform because I had not indulged myself for days.

I purposely focused my thoughts on other things to distract myself so that I might be able to tuck my turgid member back within my breaches, but it was difficult given that she was right beside me, still breathing hard. Too, despite having wiped my wet fingers dry on a hanky (her hanky, which was even now safely ensconced in my pocket, the damp side folded in), I had no doubt I could still smell her secret sweetness on my fingers even as I tucked the back of my shirt into my breeches. A bit of it the smell of her "honey" lingered in the confined air of our compartment, would perhaps cling to us both as we passed into the inn.

I thought back to who was missing from our wedding, seized upon it as a way to calm my thoughts, "Did you notice that Mr. Bingley was not there today?" I chanced a glance at my beloved, saw that Lady Catherine was looking less rumpled, but still with a healthy color on her face which might seem bright indeed when we stepped out into the sunlight (it was fairly dark with the closed curtains but Roberts and the coachman had been instructed to not open the carriage door until after we pulled back the curtains as I had half suspected, half known that we would not be suitable to exit the carriage immediately after we arrived).

"No, I did not notice at the church, I was too caught up in focusing on you." I looked back at Lady Catherine and a sweet, loving smile was upon her lips, lips that I wanted dearly to kiss again. She perhaps saw something of my desire for she touched her own lips with a lingering finger. I was forced to look away as that was not helping matters. As she continued on, I tried my best to focus on her words and not what else her lips could do.

"Likely I would not have noticed at breakfast either, but Mrs. Bingley sought me out, welcomed me to the family and apologized for his absence saying, 'Unfortunately Mr. Bingley is indisposed.' While her words were all that were proper, I had the sense she was displeased with him."

"Ah, good," I responded, speaking more to myself than her as finally my arbor vitae had wilted sufficiently for me to wrap the long front of my shirt around him and tuck myself back in my breeches and do up my fall. I was almost presentable, only lacked my gloves and hat.

"Good that he was indisposed or that she was displeased?" Lady Catherine's tone had a note of teasing; I suspected she knew exactly what I was happy about.

I could not chance looking back at her just then as it might undo all my progress, but explained, "Good that I was able to right myself. I am not surprised Bingley was absent. He rather over indulged last night. He stayed at Pemberley quite a bit later than me and was already foxed when I left. It was a bit odd, he arrived with unexpected guests that were little known to me, his steward and a couple of tenants. They made for quite a motley crew and I gathered they must drink together regularly."

"Is your son a drunkard? I cannot imagine Mrs. Bingley would like that."

"I do not think he is, but if he were my daughter would be unlikely to say a word against him. It is not that Jane does not feel the same resentments as the rest of us, but she always tries her best to never let any negative feelings show, to be serene, to deny all the ugliness in the world."

I searched for my gloves, found one then the other. My second glove was a top one of hers and I could not help but envy their symbolic embrace. I retrieved them both, then handed hers over. I seated myself again. As I was pulling my gloves on I wondered whether, perhaps, the lingering scent on my right hand would perfume my leather glove. Feeling a familiar stirring I forced myself to continue discussing the Bingleys.

"Bingley could be a drunkard and carrying on with a mistress, and I do not think Jane would ever tell a soul, save for perhaps Lizzy. But I cannot imagine it of him for he dearly loves his wife. I am surprised they do not have almost as many children as the Collinses. Something there, perhaps, is not quite right. He went out on the very night I arrived at his home before our wedding."

"Well as Mrs. Bingley, Jane, is now my daughter, I should like to help them if I can. I suspect not everything is right in their chambers. During my hen party we had a little discussion about marital intimacies. "

I looked over at Lady Catherine. Her gloves were now on and her bonnet was upon her head and she was tying the ribbon under her chin. How much I wanted to divest her of everything she had put right! But first we had to leave the carriage and gain our rooms.

"Do you think, my dear, that we could discuss this later?" I heard a slight strain in my voice. "Surely you would like to go inside?"

She nodded, regal as a queen. With slightly trembling hands I cast the curtains open. Almost immediately Roberts opened the door. Lady Catherine gestured for me to go out and a moment later I assisted her down the steps. When she was down she took a hold of my arm. It was lovely to know that this was now my place as her husband to escort her wherever she might go.

Parker told her, "Ma'am, the trunks are already in your rooms."

"Well whatever are you waiting for, take us there at once," Lady Catherine commanded. Parker led the way into a fine stone building and we followed her, Roberts behind us.

It was very difficult to leave my wife at her door, though I would be just next door and Darcy had told me (when speaking that morning of the arrangement made for us) that we had a communicating door. I knew it was necessary, naturally we needed to refresh ourselves and I did not particularly wish to empty my bladder in front of her while she waited to do likewise.

It was only mid afternoon, but I had no desire to do anything but properly attend to my wife as soon as she might be ready, hopefully to be alone with her until morning. Lady Catherine must have thought likewise for she commanded, "Roberts, arrange for dinner for us to be brought to the master's chamber at 8. Parker can advise you as to all my preferences. But you may attend to Mr. Bennet first." Then Parker was opening Lady Catherine's door and she swept inside without so much as a glance at me.

I followed Roberts into my room and then attended to all the necessary arrangements. I considered asking him to assist me into my nightshirt, but given the early hour that seemed a bit odd, so I settled for having my shoes, stockings and coat removed.

While Roberts went to empty my chamber pot, I washed up with the water he had poured in the basin. I washed my face and hands with soap and water, before using the flannel to clean below, focusing closely on those parts of me most necessary for all that was to follow. Because I let my thoughts drift to what it had been like to feel her hand on me, and to consider whether she might consider taking my rod in her mouth (How much I hoped she would not think such activities beneath her dignity as the daughter of an earl!) it was quite difficult to tuck him back in my breeches.

I very much desired to pass through the inside door and seek Lady Catherine out now that my preparations were complete, however I knew logically that it would take her longer to be ready. I sat down upon the bed which apparently would not be the site of our activities (for why else should she want the dinner sent to my room but to let us have privacy in hers). I tried not to imagine Parker undressing Lady Catherine, Parker's hands unbuttoning her dress, Parker helping her shed one layer after another until my wife was bare before her.

I tried to think of other things, I truly did. I glanced about the room seeking objects of distraction. I spied a framed drawing of the peaks. I looked at the furniture in the room, noted it included a small round table with two chairs, perfect for dinner later.

However, I also spotted the pitcher and bowl. That sight immediately made me imagine Lady Catherine bare, Parker washing her with a flannel like my own, the cloth skimming over her pale breasts, the nipples tightening into marbles, as water trickled down her torso, by her belly button, over the slightly wrinkly skin that lay below, before disappearing into the curly hair that covered the pink glistening flesh that I dearly wanted to see again. The image was arresting and my breeches felt extraordinarily tight.

But my mind, wretched thing that it sometimes is, focused on one detail, the saggy wrinkled skin of her lower belly on the body I imagined before me. I did not mind that part of the image; it merely shows, along with her stretch marks, that a woman has born children. But having never seen that part of Lady Catherine's body, I realized that detail could not reflect her. But rather than being wholly imagined, I realized then that the lady I saw in my mind bore the face, neck and arms of my new wife, much of the body itself was that of my Fanny, the woman who had given her whole life to me. The woman who I had loved, still loved, who was gone forever, or at least until we would meet again in heaven in soul and not flesh where she would no longer be my wife.

If I had been given a quarter of half an hour to think these matters over and make my peace again with how things were, likely I would have traded my melancholy for joy and proceeded into Lady Catherine's chambers and directly given her as much pleasure as possible before finally performing the marital act which would bind us together before man and God as husband and wife. But I was not given that time. The thoughts were freshly before me when Lady Catherine knocked at the internal door and said through it, "Tom, I am ready for you." That is not the type of summons a new husband ignores, so I got up, turned the handle and proceeded through.

Lady Catherine was most lovely, wearing a sheer pink nightgown that appeared to be made of silk. The neckline was low and only thin straps kept it up. If it were earlier, likely I would have lept at her and tried to divest her of the gown as quickly as possible, but instead I walked into the room, took up her hand and kissed the back of it.

"What is it, Tom?" Lady Catherine asked me gently. She gestured toward her bed, which I noticed was large and inviting, with a dark blue coverlet. We both sat on the end. I settled a respectful hand span away from her, but Lady Catherine scooted close enough that her silk clad thigh was against my own. She turned toward me and slid her finger tips along the side of my face. With sudden insight she guessed, "Are you thinking about Mrs. Bennet?"

Reluctantly I told her, "Yes, I am. I do not wish to be. I should be thinking just of you and me."

"I understand," she told me, "let me help bear your burdens. Is that not what your wife should do? "

I did not want Lady Catherine to think I did not dearly love her, but my head was full of thoughts of Fanny. I thought about how right after our wedding breakfast at Longbourn, I had not the restraint to wait for a more suitable hour and as soon as the guests left marched the new Mrs. Bennet up the stairs to my room. I acted as her maid servant and removed her dress and shift myself. As I drew each item from her body, I used it as an opportunity to touch and caress her. She blushed but made no attempt to resist whatever I might choose to do.

I recalled how Fanny trembled when she stood bare before me. I told her, "Mrs. Bennet, you are so lovely, the very picture of womanhood," while my eyes swept over her ample breasts and rounded hips. She was well formed, a woman who could bear my child.

I bid her, "Mrs. Bennet, lie down on my bed." My new wife quickly complied, seemingly relieved to cover her nakedness with the bedding. In my eagerness, I proceeded to remove my own clothes.

Fanny's eyes widened when she saw my phallus for the first time, jutting out proudly, prepared to fulfill its purpose. She confessed, "Other than my little brother, I have never seen a male bare and his thing-a-ma-bob is nothing like yours. I am not sure how it is supposed to fit where it must."

I told her with confidence I did not truly feel, "It will be fine when you are ready for it." Still, I did not hesitate to climb into the bed and slide in next to her.

I touched, and kissed and licked her while staying on my knees to the side of her while Fanny lay upon her back. When she moaned from my ministrations (at this time my lips and tongue were suckling at her breast), it was all I could do to resist climbing upon her and taking her right then. Instead, I reclined on my side and gently guided one of her hands to my chest, telling her, "It need not be only me touching you." When given this permission, her hands were eager, curious. She ran her hands down my stomach and tentatively touched my member and then swept down to feel my cods. It was so glorious, her innocent touch, that I almost spent then.

But then Fanny glided one hand back up until it wrapped around my neck and into my hair while her other her hand traveled around to my back, sliding down until she grabbed at my bum. She pulled me closer to where I most wanted to be and I pressed into the side of her hip. I touched her most private place with my fingers, trying to prepare her for my future ingress. She moaned again, this time louder, and I kissed her deeply while my fingers continued to be busy, sliding in and around. Minutes later when I joined with her, it was better than my imaginings for she pulled me close and seemed to never want to let me go.

I recalled many snippets of our repeat performances, how often we indulged when we were newly wed and how sometimes she would demand my attentions even when we had guests. I also remembered telling my daughters about what events led to me wishing to wed her, and how this conversation spurned us into indulging with some frequency again. I also recalled when she was very ill, too ill to get out of bed that still she would ask me, "Tom, can you touch me?"

I was diligent, oh so diligent then in seeing to her pleasure, and whether or not she reached it, she always requested afterwards, "Tom, come here. I want to be with you now; at least I can do this one wifely duty." Afterwards I always held her and when she was fast asleep I would beg God to spare her. But he did not listen.

Those memories were too intimate and precious to share with anyone, so I simply told Lady Catherine something else that was true. "Fanny would have delighted in the fact that all her daughters are settled, that she has grandsons and granddaughters. I never thought she would die before me, not get to enjoy her triumphs like she should. There were so many years that she fixated on finding husbands for our daughters and despaired that if they did not marry well she would be dependent upon the charity of her brothers. She was always saying that Mr. Collins (first the father and then his son your parson), might evict her from Longbourn, toss her and our daughters out in the hedgerows."

"Mr. Collins would have never done that, but I have a feeling that his father would have. I do not know much of him, but what I did know was not good." Lady Catherine responded.

I replied, "I knew Mr. Collins senior was a horrible man, to my regret I let his son remain with him. But even knowing what my wife might face, I did not engage in those economies which might have provided better for her and our daughters. She was always after me to loosen my purse strings further but she could not seem to understand that I was barely keeping us from debt, that every pound she spent on dresses and furnishings for our house, was one less pound we might save for the future."

Curious, I asked Lady Catherine, "Has our wedding reminded you of your wedding to Mr. de Bourgh? Do you miss him?"

Lady Catherine leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and then turned my head toward hers with a slight pressure with her fingertips. "Tom, you are nothing like him. What we did in the carriage was better than anything I ever did with Mr. de Bourgh. He did not care for me except as I might be the means of getting him children. Any pleasure I ever got from our interactions was due to the preparations I made prior to his arrival. Tonight will be the true wedding night I was always meant to have."

Although Fanny was still a bit in my mind, my senses were overwhelmed by my eager bride who climbed into my lap and began kissing me. It was wonderful, but just one thing was wrong. I told her, "Lady Catherine, would you mind removing your wig? Should not your husband see all of you as you truly are? It does not matter if you have less hair upon your head than me; I would rather touch baby wisps upon your head than another woman's elaborate hair."

"How did you know?" she asked me, her hand tracing along my head.

"In our earlier days all of us wore wigs, and when we wore wigs, the style of such hair never changed. In all the time I have known you, your hair has always been the same. How could it be anything other than a wig?"

"I should have known that you would know," she told me, one hand gently touching her wig.

"So will you remove it for me?" I asked again.

"If you wish," she replied, looking down, seemingly suddenly shy.

I nodded, "Please, my dear."

Lady Catherine climbing off of my lap, leaving me bereft and all too aware of that jutting protuberance which was uncomfortably bound by the fabric of my breeches. She strode to the mirror and began removing pins that must have attached that wig to her own hair. Finally she pulled it off.

While I had been brave in my declarations, I was relieved when I saw not a bald head but short curly hair, some hairs dark, some hairs light. Lady Catherine drew her hands through her hair, fluffing it a bit, before she turned back to face me.

"I like it," I told her honestly, "now is this not more comfortable?"

"Yes," she confessed, "but being like this makes me feel vulnerable."

She sat back beside me on the end of the bed. We turned our heads toward each other and leaned into a kiss. As we kissed, I slid my near hand along her cheek and then up into her short locks. They were slightly damp, perhaps with perspiration, but soft and fine.

When we broke the kiss, Lady Catherine said, "May I?" and motioned toward my crotch.

I nodded and she said, "Stand up and hold still." Then she slowly undressed me. As she did so, she ran her hands along my body. Every touch of her hands made me further burn with desire. I wondered if Fanny had felt the same that first time as I undressed her, but then banished that thought from my mind. Instead I focused on Lady Catherine's hands, Lady Catherine's touch.

When I stood bare before her, Lady Catherine asked, "Tom, do you not wish to undress me?"

"Yes," I told her and without any further prelude I squatted low and slid my hands along the sides of her legs and upward, drawing her pink nightdress from her as I rose. When I reached her dairy, I slid my fingers along the sides, letting my fingertips seek out the tips which hardened with my touch. She obligingly raised her arms and I pulled the gown up and over. Then she stood bare before me.

Lady Catherine's body was proportioned differently than Fanny, slimmer through the hips, longer through the torso, sagging in places, but still I found it just as delightful. A moment later we were in a naked embrace, our hands roaming freely, neither of us ashamed.

For what had we to fear? We wanted to be with each other, to know each other intimately and because we were married it was proper, for we were joined before God and belonged to one another. Nothing could be more natural than wanting to give and receive delight.

For many hours we kissed, licked and nibbled. Sometimes we acted on pure instinct or in the way we thought might give each other the most pleasure; at other times we followed the other's instructions. It was well that I had diligently cleansed all parts below, for Lady Catherine had no qualms about placing her lips around me. I enjoyed her ministrations for a time, but did not want to end the evening in that way and so told her, "That is enough for now, let me have my turn if you will."

Lady Catherine revealed, "Tom, your fingers are lovely, give me much delight, but would you, could you, use your mouth, too?" She then looked away, blushing like a maiden. She wiggled her lower lip in and out of her mouth as she awaited my reply.

"Of course," I told her, "nothing could make me happier than seeing to your pleasure." That might have, perhaps been a lie, because there was an activity that I was very much anticipating, but I could not help but think that if it would be even sweeter if first I gave her the ultimate delight. I climbed down to the end of the bed and knelt between her legs. Soon enough I was suckling at that button of hers at the top of her lower lips while my fingers plunged into her wetness. It was perhaps messy and undignified, but neither of us cared about that.

After some minutes of this in which my lips and tongue grew tired, my wrist began to ache and my knees grew sore, I tried all the harder. She was panting and moaning and it was glorious, but still I knew she could have more, if only I could persist a little longer. Perhaps a minute later, when I was pondering whether I could continue on, but stubbornly kept doing so, her moans grew louder and then she screamed, clenched and fluttered about my fingers. I continued, a little slower, trying to draw out her pleasure and felt further flutters and she moaned long and low. Seeing, hearing and feeling her come undone was incredibly satisfying to me. Finally I withdrew from her, collapsing to the side as I lightly rubbed the outside of her nearest thigh.

"Come up here, Tom," she told me, tugging at my shoulder. I obeyed, regaining my knees and crawling upward. I collapsed beside her and held her tight. A few minutes later, still occasionally shuddering in my arms, she told me, "Tom, that was wonderful. I never thought I could feel all of that. I am not a stranger to self-pleasure, but what you gave me does not compare with anything I have ever done for myself."

After Lady Catherine had recovered a bit longer, she told me, "I have not forgotten about you, my long-suffering husband who still needs his pleasure. Could I, perhaps, climb a top you?"

"Please do." I reclined upon my back, my member which had softened a bit, springing back up straight at the idea of what she was proposing.

Lady Catherine climbed a top me and slid against me, dragging her wetness over me, her nether curls sweeping over my own. Oh, how good it felt, but I wanted more. I flexed, trying angle my member toward her. She grasped at me, fumbled a little and then brought me into her embracing passage. We both moaned and I felt myself thicken, rapidly heading toward the point when I could no longer hold back.

I frantically tried to think of something that might delay the inevitable conclusion of her tentative plunging. Seeing her bushy bubby bouncing and swaying as she moved upon me, was not helping. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, but my mind was blank (or rather fully occupied with sensation and the juxtaposed images of all our past delight). I could not so much as recall a single Latin conjugation.

I pulled Lady Catherine tight in my arms as I gave myself over to it. Shuddering and expelling within her depths, I called out, "Oh, oh, my wife!" Being joined with her, wrapped around each other, was all I could have desired. I opened my eyes to see her staring at me, face flushed, eyes soft and distant.

She stayed on top of me for a time before sliding to one side. Although it was still early, I fell asleep moments later, my wife tucked beside me.


	25. Chapter 25

**Well I keep thinking I am going to wrap this story up, but all I can tell you at this point is that this is not the final chapter.**

**Chapter 25: Lady Catherine's POV: Providing Good Advice**

Tom and I had a few days still remaining in our trip when I received an express letter from Mr. Collins. I broke the seal and read it aloud to Tom (we were sharing some breakfast in his room). But for the salutations and closing, all Mr. Collins wrote was:

_Lately Charlotte is delivered of another son and she asked that I inform you. Charlotte appears to be well but the baby is rather undersized._

I responded aloud to Tom, "Oh miserable man who does not communicate that which is needed most. Mrs. Collins was not supposed to bear her child for at least another month, might have had several weeks remaining. Early babies sometimes do not survive and now I am left to wonder, _Will their child be well or not long for this world?_ I do not understand why Mr. Collins did not delay an hour or two to be able to provide more details. But I suppose I should not be all that surprised as men can be such . . . " I did not finish my sentence as I did not want to insult my husband in lambasting all of mankind.

"Idiots?" Tom helpfully added, waggling his bushy eyebrows. "Before you condemn him, remember that what a man might write under the direction of his newly delivered wife while he is suffering from stress is not what he would normally write. Normally Collins would be much more verbose."

"But why? In my experience, a woman can muster the rationality to tell a correspondent all the pertinent information, while a man merely dashes something off to have fulfilled his duty rather than say much of use."

Tom sprang up and began to pace. "Can you not imagine what a husband is feeling while his wife is suffering through her birthing pains?" He paused and looked at me.

He was apparently not desirous of an answer, for Tom immediately added, while resuming his pacing, "He cannot be with her and even if he could, what could be do? He is the cause of her suffering and each time her life might be forfeit. She risks so much to bring his children into this world and he is supposed to be stoic, calm while inside his stomach is rolling and he is wondering, _Will this be the time I lose my wife?_ He keeps praying silently over and over, _Please help her travailing conclude quickly and please let my wife and child be well_. Can you blame Collins for not writing what you would want when he endured many hours of worry while his wife was laboring with his child too early and was then delivered of an undersized son?"

"Is that how you felt when Mrs. Bennet had each of your daughters?" I asked. I felt a pang of jealousy imagining how much he felt about someone else when I had an indifferent husband for myself. Simultaneously, I had a sudden desire to have my belly full again, but knew that was impossible, my monthlies had been gone these past few years.

"Yes, and my fears felt well founded when Lydia was born." Tom rung his wide hands in distress at his memories, I supposed.

"Fanny had never labored so long and I kept imagining the worst. Lydia was a breach birth and Fanny was slow in recovering. All was well in the end and months later when she told me she was even more determined to bear me a son, I was hesitant to put her in such a state again."

"Most understandable," I acknowledged.

He stopped beside me and I swiveled toward him. Tom separated his hands from one another and held them out to me. I gripped them and he gripped them back hard, his larger hands enveloping my narrow fingers and camouflaging my swollen knuckles. I was not sure who was reassuring whom.

"You wish to see how things are with Mrs. Collins and the child, do you not?" His eyes held mine.

"I do." I pulled myself up, using his grip to hoist myself from my chair. and found myself pulled into his arms, into a comforting embrace. I said into his ear, "I know we planned to stay a few more days, but would you mind if we returned home? I am anxious to see my latest godchild and receive reassurance that nothing is truly wrong, or if it should be wrong, I want to be there to help them."

Tom loosened his hold on me and raised himself up on his toes so that he could drop a kiss on my cheek higher than he could normally reach. With his right hand he then smoothed back my short hair until he reached the nape of my neck, which he gently rubbed. I had not once worn my wig again when solely in his company and even Roberts had seen me this way. Tom had asked me to consider letting my own hair grow a little (it was even shorter than his salt and pepper hair and roughly shorn as it was never to be seen by anyone) and stop habitually wearing my wig, but I had not yet decided what I would do.

"Then go we shall, my dear. After all, I am _yours_ to _command_," Tom told me with a little smirk, in what I interpreted as his attempt to lighten our solemn mood. I took it as a reference to our most recent marital activities. On the previous evening I had directed him most specifically, but he had enjoyed himself well, also.

Thus we found ourselves an hour later hurrying back to Pemberley, our servants following in the carriage behind us. I had thought to go straight to the vicarage, but Tom most reasonably told me, "Surely Lizzy will know exactly what is going on or if she is still with Charlotte, Darcy will know."

I could not help but contrast our return trip with how the same journey occurred in the opposite direction on our wedding day. The previous trip had been all passion and anticipation and on this one, we merely sat close, Tom gently stroking my arm.

I have noticed something about Tom since we are married that I never anticipated. Whether or not he desires me or is "up" for any interactions, he seems to relish touching me whenever possible. He varies his method greatly and I have been keeping track of all the places he has touched me when it seems that he has no agenda but merely confirming that he has that right as my husband. Tom has touched even just my lower arms in so many ways: a firm grip, a stroking touch (with his hand flat, or curved around the limb), with a single finger (that both tickles and tempts), grazing the edges of his fingernails along the top on my arm, rubbing his knuckles on the underside along the more delicate skin, running a finger round and round my wrist, or simply pressing his arm against my own.

The beginning of our marriage was all I could have hoped. While I felt I had a good grasp of Tom's nature and was not that young maiden who saw what I wanted to see while Mr. de Bourgh was courting me, still there was that little doubting corner of my mind which thought, _He is not really as you think. _However now, that voice was only the tiniest whisper that often I could not hear at all.

That did not mean things were perfect. Tom had brought a great many books with him when I had thought that our time was to be spent with each other. Too, Tom showed less interest in spending time out of doors than I would have liked and on one occasion when we returned to the inn, having cut short what seemed to be quite a promising outing, he retreated to his room after just giving me a kiss on the forehead. When I finally ventured into his chamber through the communicating door he greeted me and then immediately went back to his book and largely ignored me.

I could have become incensed and carried on in an unseemly manner, but instead I told him, "I will see you at dinner." He grunted and did not look up. I occupied my time in writing letters, completely catching up with my correspondence which I had been neglecting.

Later when we saw each other, he was most attentive and thanked me, explaining, "Sometimes I need some time to myself, I have long been accustomed to a great deal of solitude."

With the maturity of my advancing years, I did my best to not take it personally. I asked, "Tomorrow should I take Parker and do some sightseeing without you?"

"I should like that," Tom told me. "Thank you for being so understanding. " He gripped my hand, turned it over and kissed my knuckles. I felt myself smile. This was only a small difficulty.

Yes, I missed him when Parker and I traveled around that day, but she was so appreciative of me that it was easy to still enjoy myself and it was most enjoyable to find little presents to bring back for my godchildren. Also, Tom seemed to relish seeing me again that evening and was more amorous than he had been in a couple of days which made me think some periodic absence from each other might make the homecoming all the sweeter.

Truly we were well satiated from the ten days we spent together. While there had been something so wonderful about our barely bridled passion on that first day, much of our time alone since that time was not spent in the act (Tom spoke truly when he told me that his body often would not respond as he wished it), but laying naked in each other's arms, sometimes kissing and stroking, learning each other's bodies, scars and sagging skin included, and sometimes just being. The parts of me that I felt were the most wrinkly and unappealing, he was as solicitous in touching and kissing as the rest of me, so he did not neglect the crows feet at the corner of my eyes, the wrinkles around my mouth or the lines between my brows, or even the looser skin upon my neck and droopy arm flesh.

Tom was barrel chested with somewhat of a paunch and had rather a hairy chest and torso and also some hair upon his upper back. While these parts covered by mostly white hairs, inexplicably the hair between his legs, upon his arms and legs was mostly of a darker hue except for one long, straight white hair growing out of one of his arms near his elbow, perhaps six inches in length. When I pointed it out to him, he was inexplicably proud and in a sudden pique, I pulled it from him and teased him about his vanity in the oddity, but later when he was distracted I plucked my prize from the trash barrel and stored it folded up in a hanky until I inexplicably lost it.

Later, when Tom saw me examining all of my handkerchiefs he asked, "What are you looking for? Have you a token from someone? Perhaps the innkeeper? Perhaps Roberts? Perhaps our coachman? Or is it a more secret admirer?" I knew he was in jest, but still I was troubled.

"You will think me silly, but I tried to save your long arm hair, but somehow it is gone."

I expected him to tease me but instead he merely said, "Darling, that is sweet that you tried to keep my odd hair, but do you really need it when you have me?" He reached for me then and we kissed for a long time. It was a sweet time that led to nothing more, but I treasured it.

When Tom could not partake of the marital act as much as he might like, as his tin soldier would not always stand at attention, he was not neglectful in doing his best to satisfy me. His hands and mouth acted together to bring me such joy, and he could not seem to get enough of delighting me. When I worried aloud, "Surely that must be distasteful. You do not have to do that, Tom," he momentarily left off licking me, raised his head from between my thighs (I noticed that his lips and the white beard hair on his chin were glistening from me) and said, "You taste just right, a feast just for me. Thinking about how Mr. de Bourgh neglected you, I have many years to make up for." Then he pulled my thighs wider apart, licking me with his pointy tongue and set to devouring me as if I were the finest dish and he was ravenous. Naturally with such a declaration I tumbled quickly.

Of course not all days could be like that and I gladly traded our passion from our first night for the pleasure of having Tom with me in the carriage as my established and more staid husband. It was a little sad, though, that while I remembered most vividly our escapades in the carriage, I could not imagine acting similarly ever again. Too, this trip was far different as I was rife with worry. So, Tom did his best to distract me with conversation and I did my best to let him.

"Darling, has Parker taken you into her confidence? I am most curious as to how she has spent her time when she is not attending to you."

"No, she has not been so bold as to tell me about whether she cares for Roberts, but I have noticed that she pinks up every time Roberts is mentioned. I have almost made it a game to try to mention him at least once a day to see her reaction. I will admit that she played a similar game with me regarding you beginning a few months ago. Or rather than being a game, perhaps she was subtly trying to encourage me to think about you. Do tell, has Roberts said anything to you about Parker?"

"No, but I have a feeling that he has been waiting for us to return to Pemberley." He rubbed at his white beard as he thought; I noticed it was a bit more scraggly than I was used to seeing it. "I know he admires her, and I understand they have been in company together in the common room."

"That is not all," I told Tom. "It seems Roberts escorted Parker when she went to the milliners to fetch materials to repair my dress that ripped, the one that you stepped on, that required us cutting an outing short. Naturally I gave it to her. I thought it was quite ruined for my use but as she is shorter than me, she was able to cut away the bottom and add some lace and it is certainly becoming on her."

"Roberts has seemed distracted recently," Tom told me, now drumming his fingers along his thigh. "These last three days he has forgotten to trim my beard even though he had the scissors at the ready and I asked him to do so twice. After that second time I decided not to raise the matter again and see how long it takes him to recall it."

"That bodes well if it is in fact a symptom of his regard for Parker rather than just momentary carelessness. But it might be awkward to have to call both of them Roberts." I imagined them both appearing when I called for my maid, but reasoned, "I suppose I could still call her Parker, or perhaps Mrs. R. But eventually you must have him do something about your beard as it makes your attentions to me a little more problematic; the hairs are starting to get in the way when we kiss."

"When we kiss or when I _kiss you_?" Tom's voice got deeper on the last two words and I understood well what he was referencing even without him emphasizing his meaning by waggling his eyebrows at me. I had been thinking, but had not previously declared, that I had no wish to feel a scrub brush between my legs.

I chuckled into my hands, feeling my face grow hot. While I never felt embarrassed when dispensing marital advice, it was a bit different to have my new husband teasing me.

"Look at us, " Tom responded, "we are trying to match up the whole world."

"And why not? " I countered. "Why should we not want everyone we care about as happy as we?"

"Not everyone finds happiness in marriage," his mood seemed to sour a bit. He added, "The Bingleys I am afraid have not."

"Were we not discussing them on our trip from Pemberley?" I was not sure why I had never returned to the topic during our trip.

"Yes, but we had barely begun to talk about them." Tom went on to relate as much of the business as he knew of it, which was not that much, but I had a feeling that I might be called to help them soon, so I gladly talked with him about what he did know, that Bingley was often absent from their home and he and his wife usually sat far apart.

With such conversation the miles of road went quickly and soon we were at Pemberley. A quick stop there revealed that there was some concern for the newborn Master Collins (apparently he had not yet been given a name as far as Darcy knew and his wife had remained with Mrs. Collins to give whatever comfort and help she could).

I directed Tom stay at Pemberley and I continued on to the vicarage and immediately gained admittance to the family and to Mrs. Collins and the baby most directly in their chambers. When I arrived I found myself in the middle of an uproar.

Mr. Collins was demanding of Mrs. Collins, "I must baptize our son."

Mrs. Collins was reclining in the bed with a small blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms, held tight against her, shoulders stiff and curved forward. "You will not take my child, he must stay with me."

Mrs. Darcy was attempting to be the voice of reason. "Surely cousin, you can bring some holy water here and the babe need not be moved."

"No, absolutely not." Charlotte declared, drawing her knees up as if to further cradle the baby. "You only want to baptize him now because you fear he will die, but he shant, he shant! He shall be well." I perceived no movement in the bundle and hoped the baby was merely sleeping and his stillness was not from a more sinister cause.

"We cannot know that, Charlotte. Of course I hope for the best, but we must prepare for the worst and if he should die I want our child to be bound for heaven." Mr. Collins was crunching his fingers along the edge of his coat and tapping one foot in his agitation.

Naturally I could not stay silent any longer. I felt for both of them in this situation, but felt that of the two of them it was more important to protect Mrs. Collins. Therefore, I announced in my most authoritative voice, "Mr. Collins, I do not care for any theology that would condemn a baby's soul based upon such a ritual action and declare that this a falsehood, but naturally you are wishing to do something in the moment. However, this stress cannot be good for your wife or the baby."

As if on cue, although undoubtedly it was because of my loud voice, I heard a wailing from the bed, which reminded me more of an animal's cry than that of a newborn. It was quieter than I recalled from an infant. But still, I let out a deep breath I did not know that I was holding, in having confirmation that the child was indeed alive.

Charlotte seemed to relax a little in my defense of her and brought the bundle to her breast. The child stopped his crying almost immediately and I walked closer to her to get a peek at him. His face was small and more hollow looking than I was used to an infant looking, with thin, reddish skin that was half translucent, but I saw that he was indeed taking the breast which made me hopeful that he could survive. Seeing him reminded me of some things I had heard about how best to care for an early-born child. I was not sure that what I had heard would have any more success than anything else, but it seemed to have a sort of logic on its side. But more importantly, it might help both Mr. and Mrs. Collins feel more hope.

"Mrs. Collins, it is well that you are doing your best to keep your new son warm, but I have another suggestion that may benefit him. Perhaps you have heard of those curious creatures that some transported prisoners have met, the kangaroos."

Mrs. Collins gave a slight nod. I continued, "Their are born very small and then stay within a pouch against their mothers, with her teat always at hand, until they are ready to come out. While we are of course not such a low form, it stands to reason that if you can do something similar it may give him a chance to develop as he would have if he had more time within you. The heat of your body will keep him warm better than a blanket could do and if he can feed by barely being shifted he will conserve his energy for growing rather than expend it on crying and demanding his suck."

"There is sense in what Lady Catherine says," Mr. Collins said, apparently eager to be conciliatory to his wife.

Mrs. Collins made no reply, instead she was already opening up the baby's blanket and pulling his body against hers while Mrs. Darcy pulled her blankets up over them. "He feels cold," Mrs. Collins said.

"But when cradled against you, he shall soon be warm again." Seeing an opportunity to reconcile them further, I added, "Mr. Collins, if you were abed with them, you could help keep them both warm and I daresay your chest might be a suitable substitution when Mrs. Collins has freshly fed him and must be at something else."

Mr. Collins nodded and walked over to the bed, then turned to look at me and Mrs. Darcy. It was evident to me that he meant to join them forthwith, but could not imagine unbuttoning in front of us.

"Undoubtedly, you are wishing for some time alone with your son," Mrs. Darcy commented.

"Yes, we should leave you now," I added, "but before we leave, could you tell me, does the young Master Collins have a first name?"

They both shook their heads in negation. "Perhaps we will be able to tell you tomorrow, please call sometime in the afternoon," Mrs. Collins requested.

"I will walk you out," Mr. Collins said and was true to his word in escorting us to the door and to the carriage that was waiting beyond. When we were out of the house he told me, "Lady Catherine, it is not so much that I believe an infant must be baptized before he passes on, but that I have heard many parents express fear and regret when a baby is born dead or dies early and is never baptized. I hoped to spare her that grief if the worst should pass."

"I understand and it may be that she would have thought differently in such a circumstance, but put all your efforts in making sure everything is done to keep him with us."

"I shall," Mr. Collins declared. "I am more hopeful because of your advice, but I will certainly send word if he weakens further," Mr. Collins added.

As we received no word that evening, I was confident that the baby was still with us. The next morning Elizabeth and I called again and were shown into the Collins's bedroom and saw Mrs. Collins lying in her bed, the baby asleep on her breast, a fine knit cap upon his head and a thick blanket over the two of them. He seemed much the same to me, but Mrs. Collins said, "He is doing well. Although he only nurses for a few minutes each time, he has fed many times, both day and night. I have hardly had any sleep, but he sleeps almost all of the time when he is not feeding."

Mrs. Darcy said, "I am so glad. Has he a name yet?"

"Yes," Mrs. Collins declared, "we have decided on Ezekiel. Mr. Collins searched the scriptures for a suitable name and that one means strength in God." Knowing the Collinses as I did, I was certain he would soon be called Zeke.


	26. Chapter 26

I think we are almost done, though of course I have thought that before. So rather than promise, I will let you read this chapter and perhaps you can suggest whether I should wrap this up with Bingley's POV and then an epilogue, or if something else is needed.

**Chapter 26: Mrs. Bingley's POV**

The early birth of Mrs. Collins's latest child, Ezekiel, appeared to be making my sister on edge about the impending birth of her second child. Lizzy, of course, did not take me into her confidence for a while, but there were various signs that I noted. She kept inviting me to visit her, even when I had already been to see her only days earlier. And when I did visit, she touched her belly much more than I recalled her doing with her first child. It was as if she was trying to reassure herself that the child within was well. Each time when it was time for me to depart, she clung to my hands and asked, "Will you be back soon, Jane?"

I, naturally enough, thought it odd that my strong and confident sister was being so needy. However, it also gave me some satisfaction to be needed in this way, to have her depending on me. We had already arranged that I would attend her birth as I had for the previous child.

Lizzy did not confide in me for some time. Three visits I made and she said nothing. However, my visit the day after the Collinses baptized Zeke before the whole congregation (a clear sign they felt his life to no longer be in danger), she finally shared what was troubling her. However, this did not occur until almost the end of a visit, when I drew it out of her.

I recall she mentioned almost nonchalantly, "Lady Catherine shall also tend to me when the time comes."

I must have given her a look because she justified, "I am confident in my decision," and began to list her reasons, ticking them off by raising her fingers. "One, Charlotte cannot attend, although Zeke is doing well he still feeds very frequently.

"Two, Lady Catherine birthed several children of her own and is quite knowledgeable. The Collinses may even owe Zeke's life to her.

"Three, she long ago apologized for how she acted towards me and apologized again before she married Papa.

"Four, by marrying Papa she became as a mother to us and it is only right to have her attend to me." Four of Lizzy's fingers were raised now and she seemed to be struggling to think of more.

"Five, Lady Catherine does not really have any other duties to get in the way save for her wifely duties to Papa and knowing him, he will be content enough with a book when the time comes." Lizzy gave a little sigh of accomplishment, staring me straight in the eyes as if to challenge me to say anything.

Normally I would have certainly agreed with her assessment of the correctness of her action, but I was feeling peevish. So I asked, "Do you truly welcome and wish for Lady Catherine's attendance, or are you trying to show Papa that you are welcoming his new wife into your bosom affection? Or . . . can it be that my brave sister, who is courageous in all things, never intimidated by anything, is scared this time and needs a new Mama to hold her hand?"

I admit that perhaps I was being a bit mean, for me anyway, but I expected Lizzy to set her chin and tell me I was mistaken. She did not. Instead Elizabeth folded in on herself, tucking her chin down, hunching forward and wrapping her arms protectively around her middle. She said nothing.

"Was I correct?" I asked, even though there was no need. Her silence revealed everything.

I will admit that a small cruel part of me, the part that felt a triumph in Charles's distress when I limited his visits to my bed, the part of me that was like to Caroline Bingley, was happy to see my sister brought low. But almost immediately, the stronger, better part of me was anxious to soothe her. "All will be well, Lizzy. Women have babies everyday and you both were fine the first time."

She looked up at me then and pronounced, "I know I should not be this scared; I was not the first time and that was when fear would have been more logical. I know that babies may die, mothers, too, but in Meryton I did not personally know any that succumbed. Undoubtedly I knew women who lost their babies, but it was never talked about and I doubt I really noticed when a woman withdrew from society. All of our close friends were single but for Charlotte when we married."

I nodded and she continued. "And though Mama talked about almost everything, I never heard her speak about babies who died. Perhaps it was because it was not seemly to be thinking of such things when we were still innocent maidens, but in reflecting back, it seems to me that both Aunt Phillips and Mrs. Long were frequently ill and seeing no company in our younger years and perhaps their afflictions might have been of this kind."

"Did you truly not know?" I asked, astonished. "Do you not recall how there was to be another Bennet before Lydia? Mama nearly died, laboring for days and after all that, he was born dead, and Aunt Phillips was with us for many months. She was a fine choice for helping Mama as she had been through it so many times herself. Our Aunt Phillips lost every baby she carried, the one who lived the longest was Daniel, who lived only but a week, born alive but too early. That was the summer you were away with the Gardiners. His grave is in the church yard burial ground with five others, but only two were baptised and named. Have you never seen how sometimes after a service they go out into the cemetery?"

"Well yes," confusion still lingered on her face and she justified, "but all our relatives are buried there. And the Phillipses never had a mourning wreath over their door or wore mourning clothes."

"Lizzy, do you not recall that Aunt Phillips favors wearing browns and greys? She is always mourning." Truly I did not understand how she could be so blind.

Heedless of my knowledge that I should not be talking about dead infants and mothers with my sister who was likely to give birth at almost anytime, I continued, eager to prove that I had worth in my observational skills and others' willingness to confide in me. "Do you truly not know that the first Mrs. Lucas died when Charlotte was born and the one now is the third to bear that name?"

Elizabeth shook her head and her eyes darted anxiously, like a spooked horse. I fell silent. Although it was not really my intention, I could see I had made her anxiety for the upcoming event far worse.

"How will I bear my fear?" she asked me.

I responded, "You will because you have no choice. It is simply the way of the world that women and the children they deliver are always in mortal peril, but healthy babies are born every day to rejoicing mothers. Still, if this one be a son, you need not go through it again."

Lizzy looked at me in confusion and I responded to her unspoken question. "Come, do you not recall Mama's instructions on other ways to satisfy your husband?"

"I do, but how can you deny yourself and your husband something that gives so much pleasure and satisfaction? Something that binds you together and unites you? "

I considered then telling Elizabeth about how I had neither felt such satisfaction nor wanted to with my husband, who even now likely was keeping a mistress in Lambton. While I had shared with her my husband's betrayals, both certain and probable, I had never spoken of our private marital acts or the lack of them. However, the question must have been rhetorical, for she continued on, adding, "Too, we both wish for a large family. Even now it is most wonderful to be together, to give and share delight."

Somehow thinking on this had settled my sister somewhat, although she still rubbed at her belly. Then she asked me, "Have you taken such measures because you fear more children?"

I blushed (I could feel the heat in my cheeks especially, although it warmed my whole face) and considered demurring. However, Lizzy and I were alone. I told her, "I am simply a convenient vessel for Mr. Bingley's passions. My mouth serves such a purpose with far less risk."

My response seemed to dumbfound my sister and the silence made me further embarrassed by my confession. However soon enough she had her arms around me, although not as much around me as her embrace would have been before without her turgid belly. I felt a kick against my own middle and had a momentary desire to be with child once more.

Finally Elizabeth spoke, "So you simply serve your husband in that way out of duty but deny him further children, forgo exercising true marital intimacy?" The look she gave me made me think she felt sorry for me and that was simply something that I could not bear. I made no reply and made excuses to be gone as soon as could be.

I half resolved to seek out my own happiness, to demand that Charles give up his mistress. But when I returned home, Charles was not there and I did not see him until the following morning at breakfast where we both played the part of indifferent acquaintances.

A week later, a message arrived from Pemberley telling me that Elizabeth's pains were upon her. When I arrived, Lady Catherine was at Lizzy's side, rubbing her temples (Lizzy's eyes were closed) and advising, "You are doing well. Try to relax into your pains rather than fighting against them. Remember every pain brings you closer to your child's arrival."

The midwife, the same wizened woman who brought forth all the children and was two heads shorter than me, stood a little apart from them observing and then sidled up to me to whisper, "It is well that you have come. Mrs. Darcy will be more at ease having her sister near. Lady Catherine is a dab hand at this and all is well in hand. It is early yet. I have another mother in the village who is further along and I must return to her. I will return ere too long; Lady Catherine knows what would require sending for me."

She slipped out as soon as Elizabeth's pains ceased, I could tell as the tension was suddenly gone from my sister's face. Lady Catherine murmured in a soothing tone that reminded me of how I addressed my children when they were sick or overly tired, "All is well. Mrs. Bingley has arrived but you may still rest for now."

"Hello Jane," Elizabeth greeted me, eyes still closed. A minute or so later she opened her eyes and sat up. We chatted about nothing of importance for the ten minutes or so until the next pain hit. It did not last very long, perhaps half a minute.

Afterwards Elizabeth sat up again, looked around and asked, "Where is the midwife?"

Lady Catherine explained in that same gentle tone, "She is with Mrs. Bagley. She believes she will deliver much sooner than you, but will return soon."

Elizabeth crunched up her shoulders and pressed her lips tightly together and said not a word. Lady Catherine beckoned me closer. Instead of ordering she suggested, "Perhaps you can rub her shoulders and help put her at ease."

We both attended to my sister and it seemed to help. Although her pains grew closer over the next several hours, they were still short each time.

Later they spaced out further and my sister slipped into a light dose. It was around this time, an hour before midnight, that the midwife returned. She observed for a while and said, "This little one will not arrive tonight. You should all try to rest, to sleep if you can. I need some sleep as well."

Lady Catherine took charge then, arranging a guest room for the midwife, making sure my usual chambers were prepared, summoning Mr. Darcy. I was outside the chamber, talking with Lady Catherine, when Mr. Darcy appeared. He strode so rapidly it was as if he could barely restrain himself to a walk. I saw worry etched across his face in the tense lines in his forehead and clenched jaw, and his hands were at fists at his side.

"How is she?" He demanded.

Lady Catherine answered, "Your wife is fine."

Before Lady Catherine could tell him more, he asked, "But the child is not?" There was just the smallest quiver of his lip, and his tone was thick and higher than usual.

"All is well," Lady Catherine reassured, laying a hand upon his forearm and looking up at him. "Her pains have gone away; the midwife is quite sure the baby will not be born until tomorrow. I would have thought she would have spoken to you."

Mr. Darcy shook his head in negation, his shoulders relaxed a little and he let out a shaky breath. "Thank God!"

Lady Catherine then pulled him into an embrace and he leaned into and over her, like an overgrown child. I saw her pat and then rub his back. She said calmly as she patted and rubbed, "Darcy, I never meant to scare you. Sometimes things happen this way. Elizabeth resting now will give her the strength to bear the child tomorrow. You might as well keep Elizabeth company tonight; she will take comfort from resting with you, you can be sure. If her pains resume, you may certainly call on me."

He gave a single decisive nod, opened the door and lingered for a moment outside. The look he gave his wife was one that any woman would have gladly claimed for herself and I wondered if Charles had ever looked at me that way. His eyes were wide and filled with hope, longing and love. His face was soft and the barest of smiles graced his lips. Then he walked in and closed the door behind him without another word for either of us.

I expected Lady Catherine to bid me goodnight and hurry to her own chambers and expected I would have to do the same, but I felt myself at loose ends. I was too alert to imagine settling myself down to sleep even if the midwife was correct and we had that time. Perhaps Lady Catherine felt similarly, for she lingered outside my sister's room as I did.

I felt more comfortable in Lady Catherine's presence than I had before. She seemed more approachable with her shorter curly hair, mostly white at the front but dark at the back. Indeed, it made her look more like Lizzy.

The hours spent with Lady Catherine, in which she devoted herself to doing all she could for Lizzy, had softened me toward her. I imagined how my mama would have been, if she could have attended our births. I imagined Mama would offer practical, blunt advice but also be fluttering and overcome. I could not imagine her rubbing Lizzy's temples and remaining quiet unless Elizabeth engaged us in talk or she thought Lizzy needed words of encouragement. Lady Catherine had truly acted as an ideal mother ought in such circumstances and I felt my sister was both wise and fortunate to have her attendance. I even was already considering whether if I had another if I should ask Lady Catherine to attend me.

"Should you like to sit a bit and talk, Mrs. Bingley?" she asked.

I responded, "Surely we should get some sleep as the midwife advised until our services are needed again."

"I suppose we should," she replied, " but I cannot just yet and perhaps you feel the same. "

I nodded and we walked to the library. She paused, opened a door near it a bit and peered inside, then withdrew, softly closing it. I recalled her and my father's chambers were near the library. "It is as I thought, Tom is asleep."

We settled in the library which even though the hour was late was lit with candles. I suspected that Mr. Darcy had been haunting the library before being fetched by a servant.

I sat upon the grey sofa that my father favored. Lady Catherine, rather than sitting in the wing-back chair that was her usual spot, joined me on the sofa. We were silent and after a while I wondered why I was there at all. Then she shifted to angle herself toward me and leaned forward, fixing me in her gaze. She told me in a gentle tone, "Mrs. Bingley, I have long wanted to talk with you, to see if what is broken can be mended, to take you into the care of a mother toward her most beloved child. I know it is not the thing done, exceeds the bounds of propriety for gentle discourse, but my character has long been celebrated for my frankness and I will do what I think is needed, whether it be seemly or not."

Perhaps I should have fled then, but the idea that her care was fixed upon me felt good. Having seen how hard she worked to give my sister what comfort could be had when in her pains, I trusted her intentions. Instead of leaving, I settled only deeper in what was proving to be a most comfortable chair.

"Your father and sister are concerned about the state of your marriage, " she told me, looking as if assessing my reaction. I made none, my ordinary demeanor firmly affixed. "Perhaps it truly is not my concern. I will not force you to confide in me, but hope you might trust me. I wish to give you a mother's care in all things."

I gave a nod of acknowledgment but otherwise said nothing. This must have been invitation enough, for she leaned closer to me and asked, "What, my dear, causes such a divide betwixt you and your devoted husband?"

"Devoted?" I hissed back. "Nothing could be further from the truth. Even now he is likely with his mistress, taking comfort from her." I crossed my arms, well aware of the petulance of my tone.

"And if he is, " she said evenly, "why should you care? You, my dear, are the one pushing him away. But I do not think he finds comfort in another's arms, or if he does it would be for mere physical release. Every time I have seen you together he tries to draw near to you, but you rebuff him at every turn. He would not still be making such an effort if he had a convenient who had captured his heart. "

"He is faithless. He never trusted my love; he threw it away."

Lady Catherine asked, "Will you tell me of it?"

I told her bit by bit, the words first trickling from my mouth in drips and drabs that turned into a torrent, a flood that I could not stopper. I told her all about falling in love with Charles, his leaving, his long delayed return, my hesitancy in trusting again, our marriage and the day he broke my heart even as I tried to pretend nothing had changed.

"Mrs. Bingley, Jane . . ." I nodded my agreement to the more informal address to the woman who had claimed my mother's place, "has your heart no room for forgiveness? Can you not see that none are perfect, save for the Savior? Has Charles not paid enough for his sin? Have you not punished him enough while suffering yourself? Life is too short, my child."

I found myself sobbing, sobbing like a little child. Then I felt a hand stroking my shoulder. The space between us had vanished and I all but flung myself into her arms, which surrounded me. She held and rocked me back and forth. "All will yet be well." I cried for a long time, or at least it seemed a long time. Through it all, she was with me, her arms holding me firmly to her bosom, needless of my tears and snot upon her dress. Finally, I calmed.

"But Mama," I did not intend to address her by such a moniker, but who last had held me in her arms in such a manner but my own devoted mother, many years ago? "whatever shall I do?"

"Forgive," Lady Catherine replied, without hesitation, "forgive your husband and yourself, and then try to forge a better future."

I pulled back a little and looked up at her. "You make it sound easy."

Lady Catherine responded, "Do not misunderstand me, Jane, I assure you, it is not. Yet does not everything worth having require effort and work? If it were easy, you would have done it long ago."

She gave my shoulder a squeeze and then slid away from me, putting a respectable distance between us. I confess that I missed her holding me. I thought about how I was always the one holding my children, but no one ever held me.

Lady Catherine must have felt something of how I was feeling for she told me, "Child, if you are willing, I will be here to support you how ever things turn out."

I nodded and leaned forward, my arms upon my knees. She leaned forward likewise.

I asked, without calling her Mama once again, although I was tempted to do so, "What should I do?"

Lady Catherine responded, "You must have a frank talk, tell Mr. Bingley why you have acted as you have, be vulnerable, share your fears. You must own how you have wronged him and leave it to him to own where he has failed you. Then on the other side a better life is possible for you both. Nothing I have seen makes me think it impossible, only difficult."

We talked a bit more, but soon my eyes grew heavy and I began to think I would fall asleep in that very chair. The idea was not particularly troubling. But before I was truly lost to sleep, Lady Catherine was urging me up. Leaning on her, she walked me to my room. No maid was waiting for me, so it was Lady Catherine herself who unbuttoned my dress, loosened my stays and divested me of all but my shift. She even pulled back the counterpane and drew it back upon me after I was abed.

As I drifted away I thought I heard her say, "Sleep well, my child."

I slept until nigh on ten in the morning, at which point I was roused by a maid who told me, "Your sister needs you; her pains have resumed."

In just a few minutes, I was back by my sister's side. Lady Catherine and the midwife were already in attendance and it was clear to me that Lizzy's labor was in earnest. I resumed rubbing my sister's shoulders while Lady Catherine rubbed her temples. Lady Catherine repeatedly offered words of encouragement to my sister, although I was not sure if she even heard them, so occupied was she with her pain.

About two hours later, following the midwife's instruction, Lady Catherine and I each held one of Lizzy's hands as we led her to the birthing chair. Minutes later as she brought forth the babe, my sister's eyes remained closed as she grunted deep and low, simultaneously crushing our hands. With two deep grunts from her, his dark hair and then head emerged and with a third the baby slithered out into the midwife's hands. I immediately saw that it was a man child.

"He is come," I told my sister. "You are delivered of a son."

Elizabeth was still panting with her eyes closed upon my pronouncement, but at the word "son," her lids burst apart and I saw her eyes seek her child. The midwife slapped at the baby's bottom and he began to howl, his pale face going red. She then proceeded to tie the cord and cut it before wiping away the whitish coating that all babies are born with and then swaddled him in a blanket. He quieted when he was wrapped.

The midwife handed the baby to me saying, "Hold the baby for a minute," and then to my sister, "Mrs. Darcy, you must push again, to deliver the afterbirth. My sister grunted and a couple of seconds later the afterbirth plopped into a bowl the midwife was holding.

My sister breathed easier then, though her lids drooped with exhaustion even as she raised a shaky hand to touch the baby's face (I was holding him close to her) and then closed her eyes again and rested. I continued to hold the baby as the midwife went to work cleaning Elizabeth and then stitching her up.

I paid little heed to the midwife's work then, cuddling the little one close to my breast and speaking to him. I told him, "What a handsome boy you are, with dark hair just like your papa. He will be so happy you are here." And within my own body, I felt an ache to have another baby.

Soon enough Elizabeth was back in her bed, resting in a new night gown, and I placed the baby into her arms. "Get Fitzwilliam," she told me.

No sooner had I opened the door than Mr. Darcy burst in, his eyes immediately on his wife. "Are you well?" he asked as he strode past me to reach her.

"Well enough, but very, very tired," she told him. And then instructed, "Come meet your son."

I watched their happy reunion for a few minutes. It was beautiful to see how they felt about the other but it was also most evident to me that my own marriage was but a pale imitation of what could be possible between a husband and a wife.

I knew that I needed to go. My own children and husband were waiting for me. I walked out of the room with Lady Catherine and the midwife. Of all things they were discussing the efficacy of making a broth for Elizabeth to consume which would be made from boiling the afterbirth. The midwife insisted, "The afterbirth broth will help her womb recede and the healing begin," while Lady Catherine insisted, "A woman should never eat what was once a part of her body." I recalled with a certain disgust that I was fed some sort of broth after delivered of my children that had a peculiar flavor. Was that what I had eaten?

I chose not to stop and engage in this debate as I was anxious to be at home. As I walked towards the front parlor, I encountered a footman and ordered that my carriage be prepared. I was determined that after I saw my children, I must certainly talk to my husband before my courage fled.

However it seemed as if circumstances were conspiring to keep me from my goal. First, my children demanded my attention, but then it was the cook and the housekeeper who needed me. When dinner came, I saw to my dismay that my husband had guests in attendance. Mr. Cobb regularly was a guest at our table, but it was more unusual to have two of our tenants, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams. Whereas before I would have welcomed the distraction of their presence, tonight I could not wish them gone soon enough.

They lingered after dinner and soon enough my husband invited them into his study. I was left alone. I sat by myself and worked on some embroidery for a time, but finally when it was clear they did not intent to join me at all, I took myself off to bed. My plan was to speak to him when I heard him gain the adjoining room.


	27. Chapter 27

Thank you for all the love for the past chapter. The plan as I began writing was to sort out the Bingleys in this chapter and then have a future shot in lieu of an epilogue. However, as I wrote, Georgiana asked, "Laina, why is there only one chapter focused on me? You've told everyone else's story and it hardly seems fair. I acknowledged that she had a point, but went on to explain that there were other stories waiting in the queue and it was my intent to wrap up this story and a few mentions of her in this chapter and the next were likely all I could give her. She was so kind about the matter that I started to feel bad.

**Chapter 27: Bingley's POV: Can I Trust Again?  
**

It was nigh on two in the morning when my guests were finally sent home and I took myself to bed. While Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams were perhaps not the companions I would have selected earlier in my life, the advantage in their companionship is that they are ready and willing for entertainments as they are not bogged down with other matters when the work day is through. As long I am the person supplying the food or drink, they always have time for me.

While I recognize that perhaps I am buying their companionship, it does not bother me overmuch. I have sufficient funds to do ten times as much. The rents from the land and my investment in my cousin's business, deliver a profit that more than pays for all I could need and more, while adding to the principal. It is well worth it to spend money on them, to avoid being alone. Of the four of us, I am the only one with a wife, but it hardly counts when she does not want to spend time with me.

Mr. Cobb is a widower with no children who is more than ten years my senior. He is the third son of a landed gentleman but his eldest brother long ago succeeded to his father's property. He says that though he can well afford to marry again that the object of his dearest hopes is unobtainable. I have a certain suspicion that it is Miss Darcy that he fancies and he is certainly no eligible candidate for her. I doubt she even has noticed his existence.

Once my sister Caroline thought that I might be able to make a match with Miss Darcy after her come out, but although she finally had her curtsy to the queen last year, Miss Darcy seems uninterested in seeking a husband yet. She is quite devoted to her niece and I am certain she will dote on her nephew as well. I well understand why she does not want to leave the felicity of her current home, and with her lovely appearance and hefty dowry, she can well afford to wait; she will never be an ape leader.

I would not be surprised if she took an interest in a man in this very community, but there seems to be a dearth of rich, single men or first sons set to inherit a large estate. However, there is an estate for rent or sale; perhaps an eligible single man might take it and be in want of a wife.

Mr. Grubber has never married and says he gets along well enough without a wife. I suspect, though I have never discussed it with him or anyone else, that he might be a Molly as I have seen how he looks at Mr. Cobb when he thinks no one is observing.

Mr. Sams seems to have no desire to marry, the reason being that he does not like family life. He lives with his sister and her family and works the fields with his brother by marriage. He is always anxious to get out of the house and away from the crying babes.

On this particular occasion, our excuse for celebrating was the birth of the new Darcy heir. Many toasts were given and at first they were quite innocent. But as the night progressed and more alcohol was consumed, the toasts to my absent friend became more ribald and made more overt references to his virility. Mr. Cobbs declared, with a full glass raised far above his head, "To Mr. Darcy, who is most fortunate in his wife, and now much accomplished for his fine basket making!"

Mr. Sams added, "From seed to fine plant, may Mr. Darcy grow a fine garden instead of the rest of us."

Mr Grubber responded, "What do you wager that he will have another son in the next twelve month?"

Mr. Sams said, "If we are wagering as to a child in a year, I will place my money on Mrs. Collins. The vicar's wife has them at about that rate; that is a sure thing."

"Which is why I would never take such a bet," Mr. Grubber replied, shaking his head "no" so vigorously that his hair flapped around his ears.

"How about you, Bingley? When will Mrs. Bingley give you another? Is there a bun in her oven?" Mr. Cobb asked me. "She is a fine looking filly. If she were my wife, I would make her scream my name every night and get her belly full."

I said nothing in reply, hardly heard the comments the others added. I did my best to ignore the hollow feeling that I would likely never have another son or daughter myself.

I recalled how when my second child, Charlie, was born that while everyone was busy congratulating me on the new Master Bingley, I feared that now that my wife had provided me a male heir that she would likely seek to avoid future marital relations with me. While what we had before there was certainty she was with child was less than I wanted (how wonderful it would have been if Jane was wanton, seeking the delights Darcy had told me a wife could achieve), still I felt better in having her warm body beneath me than being left only the consolation of my hand as I thought of her. If only Charlie had been Charlene, she might be have been more willing to accept my attentions. Still, Charlie is a fine son and I certainly don't regret him.

While I celebrated my friend's and sister's child, who we spoke of by his role rather than his name (as Jane said she had heard nothing about what his name was to be), I forced myself to be of good cheer rather than wallow in regret. I have found that being disguised always helps prevent me from dwelling on that which I cannot change. Therefore, to keep myself distracted from my lovely, though still so unattainable, Jane, as per usual I drank more than I ought.

When I finally took myself off to bed, I felt pleasantly warm and ready to slumber. My valet, McKinley, was waiting for me and quickly helped me divest myself of clothing and pull on my night shirt so I could get myself to bed. Only a minute or so had passed from me sending him off through the servant's and I had already blown out my candle and settled myself for sleep when I heard the loud creak of a door that most certainly needed oiling.

I roused a bit, murmured, "McKinley did you forget something?" but then in looking over at the servant's door found it still closed.

My eyes darted over toward the door that but rarely opened and saw my wife there, still holding the knob, dressed in a light blue nightgown (which looked silver in the dim light) and matching wrapper, slippers upon her feet and her hair pulled back in a braid. Jane was frozen as if still trying to determine whether she should enter or not.

I felt a sudden anger. _How dare she come now to yell at me_, for that was what I expected her to do. But when Jane said nothing for several long minutes, I sluggishly concluded that she had something else on her mind.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to gentle my voice and not shout. "It is not Thursday or Monday, so I daresay you are not here to take pity on me, unless perhaps you have decided you sister's successful birth merits celebrating with a roll in the hay. If that's what you want, I regret I am not _up_ for it." Yet even as I denied my capacity (strong drink tended to render my yard as small as plunging into cold water for a swim), I felt a stirring in my loins for my wife was entering my chamber while dressed in her night clothes and though her assets were well concealed I knew they were there, could not unsee what had been revealed before, which was a similar pink to her lips.

"I wish to speak to you, husband." I motioned her in and sat up. As I did, I felt as if I were upon a boat in the ocean; everything seemed to be bucking and swaying and what I had drunk before seemed to be sloshing around. I held myself still for a few moments and my discomfort decreased.

"What is it you wish to talk about and why cannot it wait until morning?" I heard a certain crossness in my voice and half expected her to go away. Instead she sat upon the bed, causing the mattress to sway just enough to make me feel at sea again.

Suddenly, I felt bile rising up and turned just in time to heave over the near side, the side she was currently occupying. She seemed to anticipate that I would cast up my accounts as she began to draw her legs away, but she was not quick enough to avoid it all. I watched liquid shoot out of my mouth, drenching a fine oriental rug, a few drops staining her slippers and the hem of her wrapper.

A vindictive part of me reveled in the fact that Jane was marked. However, as if in retribution for my mean thoughts, the stench and flavor in my mouth caused my heaving to return again and again until there was nothing left to expel. Still my body did not seem to know and I retched for some minutes after there was nothing left but a bit of spit.

During this time, I was vaguely aware of Jane rising from the bed and concluded that she was leaving me to reap what I had sown. I recalled the many times she had berated me about my overindulgence and spared me no compassion. But instead as I collapsed back down upon the bed, I heard her pour water and a few moments later she was offering me my stoneware cup from the other side of the bed.

"Swish and spit," Jane instructed, holding a basin before me. I brought the cup to my lips and followed her instructions. It felt good to have her tend to me as she might have one of the children, as she had when Franny had scarlet fever six months ago. When I had been ill myself with that same disease within days of Fran, while Jane had done her duty and checked on me, it was my valet and others who cared for me.

I remembered one day in my illness when I was particularly low and in my fever and while in a dreamlike state, supposing that I had never returned to Netherfield, called out, "Jane, Jane."

Jane was fetched and came to my bedside. I reached out for her and she pulled back and away. "Jane, I came back," I declared, in my fevered state trying to reassure her. It seemed to me that even then she did not see me.

I was roused to a better awareness by her words, but afterwards I wished I had not been. "Yes," she responded, clenching her jaw for a moment before adding, "If only you had stayed away or would go away now, I might have been, might now, be happy." Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to cover her mouth, as if to stuff her words back inside. Immediately she said, "I did not mean it, truly."

I closed my eyes and, though it hurt to move, rolled away from her. I heard her steps and the opening and closing of the door as she left. My agony from my illness, which was beginning to fade, was supplanted by a mental anguish that far exceeded it. When I was quite sure she was far away, I let the tears fall down my face, but felt no relief.

Later, when McKinley came to tend to me, he wiped away my drying years with a wet cloth. I let my lids drift down again as I did not want to see the pity in his face again. I heard pouring and stirring, and then he propped me up, holding a cup to my lips. I took a sip and knew that rather than just giving me a tincture of willow bark, he had added drops of laudanum. The tell-tale bitter taste was proof enough in my tongue.

As I struggled to drink it down, McKinley told me, in a slightly chiding tone, "You should have told me about your distress; there is no need for you to suffer such pain."

As I lay there those months earlier, waiting for sleep to claim me, I thought about how physical distress was much easier to bear than the pain of having a wife who hated me. The next morning it was evident that my body was determined to become well again, with or without my consent.

Now, having Jane tend to me felt like some kind of trick. Having done my best to harden my heart, I was determined not to be weak again.

She took the cup and basin away and returned with a wet flannel. As she leaned forward as if to wipe my face, I grabbed the cloth from her and cleaned my face myself. "That is quite enough," I told her. "I have no wish to be in your debt." Yet contrarily enough I handed the cloth back to her to dispose of.

Jane's forehead wrinkled in what appeared to be confusion as she idly folded up the cloth; her eyes on the cloth still, she asked me, "Is not a wife to tend a husband?"

I responded, "I want nothing from you that is done of mere obligation. Leave me be, woman. Go back to your own room and let me sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for whatever you might want."

Jane seemed to consider the matter for a few moments as she bent down and scrubbed at the stain upon her hem, slippers and ankles. I could not help but strain to try to see the bit of her breast exposed from her bending down. After she stood up, she must have seen something of the lasciviousness in my gaze, for she pulled her blue wrapper more tightly around herself. She must have been attempting to conceal her dipping neckline better, but unbeknownst to her it only highlighted her curves. A moment later, she and began to walk away, rounding the end of my bed to get to the connecting door. However, after she opened the door (which screeched just as loudly as before), she paused and lingered, turning back around.

"Mr. Bingley, on the morning when my father wed Lady Catherine, were you in earnest when you told me that you had never dishonored our wedding vows? I have long thought that if you did not receive ample satisfaction from me that you would seek it elsewhere and you are often gone from our home in the evenings."

I was incensed by her question. I had certainly not lied to her about my activities. Often I entertained my friends at the inn and occasionally Mr. Cobb hosted us all, but I had no wife in watercolors waiting for me. However, I tried to dampen my emotions, to see matters from her perspective, realizing I never had particularly told her where I was going or what I was doing, so perhaps she might be excused for thinking the worst.

"I have not lied to you. I have no mistress, have not kept company with any light-skirt. I have kept my vows." I decided to ask her what I had asked her on that morning, "Why can you not forgive me for how I erred before we married?" Before she could make a reply, I added, "Yes, it was badly done, but you have been punishing me for it ever since, acting deliberately to harm me. Do you know how much it torments me to be married to you, Jane, but have none of your heart?"

Jane looked down and away from me. I saw her bite her bottom lip and scrunch up her brow as she twisted one of her ankles, rotating the lifted heel of her slipper back and forth. She slowly looked back in my direction, meeting me eyes before she softly said, "I have been punishing you for so long, I hardly know how to do anything different, but it doesn't solve anything. It just makes us miserable. I have wronged you, I know I have. Could you ever forgive me? Tell me, is it too late to mend what is broken?"

Whatever expectations I had for what she might say, Jane overthrew completely with those words.

I felt a sudden warmth flood through me, hope. I no longer wished for her to leave me alone, but feared her going before I could say whatever I needed to say and lose this opportunity forever. These thoughts and realizations flooded through me in just a moment and I lept from the bed to reach her side. This was an error, of course, as in my haste I forgot upon the mess upon the rug.

Before I could even understand what was happening, I slipped in my sick and found myself flung upon the floor, upon my elbows and knees, my feet coated in my own sick. Still, I struggled to gain my feet even as I felt darkness threaten my vision. I knew I needed to get to Jane, to tell her . . . what I was not sure of, but I knew it was tremendously important.

Despite my best efforts, I was only able to straighten on my knees before I had to collapse back down on my bum fiddle which lived up to its name with the issuance of ars musica. Still, all I knew was that I needed to get to Jane, before she changed her mind. Even with my vision still greying on the edges, as I could not trust myself to stand, I crawled toward her on my hands and knees before I had to pause again with dry heaves.

All my body wanted to do was to collapse right there, but I could see a vague form that I believed to be Jane by the door and I resumed my crawling once more. When I reached her, I grabbed her slippered feet with my hands, desperate to keep her from leaving. Undoubtedly I was in the most pitiful, disgusting position that she had ever beheld.

I slowly lifted my head until I was gazing at her middle. Somehow I could not make my head and eyes turn heavenward enough to see her face. Jane bent down toward me and slid her hand under my chin, until I was looking at her.

I saw no disgust or pity. Instead Jane's eyes were wide, her mouth forming a small "o". She closed her mouth and swallowed thickly. Then her lips parted and she said slowly, repeating her earlier question, a question I had never answered, I realized as soon as she asked it, "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, Jane. Can you forgive me?"

She began nodding and tears burst from her eyes. A moment later I found both of us sitting on the floor, our arms wrapped around the other. "Jane, please do not cry," I told her, even as tears began to fall down my face as well. I really did not understand why she was crying, or why I had joined her.

We sat on the floor for a long time. However, finally she asked, "Charles, do you think you may walk now? Your chambers smell quite terrible."

"And what is your solution?" I asked, hoping she did not want me to summon McKinley at such a late hour.

"I was hoping you might wish to come to my chambers." The look she gave me was intense and sincere.

In answer, I began to stand, but had to steady myself by leaning against the wall. Jane stood up as well and grabbed me by the arm, leading me into her room. The yellow and white stripped wallpaper was just as it had always been, but the room had a warmth to it, not a physical warmth, but a happiness warmth that I had never felt before. Although it smelled better inside, soon enough I noticed that my nightshirt still had the dregs of half-dried vomit upon its lower half and indeed my feet were still damp with it, too.

Jane must have noticed the same for she said, "Let us get that nightshirt off of you and get you clean."

Before I had made any reply, she was already drawing it over my head, her hands caressing my sides as she slid it off. She opened the connecting door again and tossed my nightshirt inside. Then she gestured for me to sit down upon her bed.

Seeing me bare, she blushed a bit and quickly retrieved a blanket which she placed upon my lap. As I sat, she cleansed my legs and feet with a flannel in foaming with soap she had rubbed upon it from a bar. It was not the most masculine of scents, rather it smelled of lavender and other herbs. However, it was lovely just to sit and feel her hands upon my feet. At that moment, I did not feel desire, but rather than I was well loved, in having her serve me.

As Jane washed my feet, something felt familiar about what was occurring. Unbidden, an image rose in my head about how Jesus washed his disciples feet.

As soon as she finished, I bid her, "Leave the flannel and basin there; come and sit." To avoid embarrassing her, I wrapped the blanket around my waist when I stood up. She sat where I had been and then, noticing some stains upon her wrapper, nightgown, ankles and slippers I asked, "Do you not need to change as well?"

I expected her to change in her dressing room, but instead she stood up, kicked off her slippers, untied her wrapper and, while staring at me, shrugged out of it and threw it to the far side of the room. Her nightgown was soon drawn off of her as well, joining the pile. Then she sat back down on the bed, blushing while making no attempt to cover herself.

I sat back down upon the floor and tried my best to focus all of my attention on the task before me rather than be distracted by my angel who for once was baring all her glory for me. I proceeded to wash her feet and ankles as she had mine. I noted her graceful ankles, so delicate that I could almost close my hands around them. They were soft with only fine blonde hairs and her left ankle had one dark brown but flat mole on the outside. I noted her pale tiny feet with well formed digits which splayed out a bit. her feet and toes had no hair but for two blonde hairs upon each big toe. I washed her feet slowly, lovingly, reverently until all trace of the acidic smell was gone and there was only lilac, herbs and skin. Then I dried them off with the edge of the blanket that was wrapped around me.

When I was finished, I knew not what to do. I longed to kiss her feet, to kiss up her legs to their juncture, to press myself into her and to have her wrap her arms and legs about me. It seemed to me that Jane might now welcome me to her bed, and while this was certainly tempting, I felt there was much more to be discussed, when I was clear-headed and not when I was still half-foxed. I did not want to make the mistake of thinking that a physical union might solve everything. The last thing I wished to do was to go back to my own bed, but neither did I feel I belonged right then in hers.


	28. Chapter 28

_Yes, I know it has been a super long time since I posted a chapter. I have been working on this chapter on and off for what feels like months and it kept growing and changing. I know it isn't perfect, but it is past time for it to be born._

_Georgiana got her wish although George and Lydia did her best to hijack Georgiana's chapter. If you want to recall what Georgiana shared before, her previous chapter was Chapter 10. Sensitive readers please note that in Georgiana's past remembrances of George Wickham, she recalls his non-consensual __conduct he engaged in with her._

_Near the end of this chapter, we see Georgiana being a voyeur to something that happened back in Chapter 17._

* * *

**M****iss Georgiana Darcy's POV: Adult ****Interactions**

It has been a while since I realized that I exist in a space between a child and an adult. Yes, I am full grown and am "out" and, therefore, may consider single men as potential husbands, but I am not treated as a full adult. While I thought something might alter when I reached my majority, very little did. Although officially the joint guardianship of my brother and cousin ended, they still treat me much the same.

I have concluded that while a man may be fully an adult at one and twenty, a woman is not seen as one if she still be unmarried. Yet, when she marries, her husband will rule over her so she never has the independence a man does. The only option for true independence for a woman is to be a respectable widow like Lady Catherine, but she happily traded in that state for becoming a married woman again, to someone much lower than her in rank and consequence, so marriage must still be superior at least when love is around.

As not quite an adult, I am still cherished and loved by many. When Fitz married I gained first one, then two beloved sisters. It is not an unpleasant state to have such love. But it chaffs to me that so much is still deemed inappropriate for me to know of or hear about because I am a maiden.

The nature of my status was easier to ignore when my brother and his wife were the only couple at Pemberley and yet had no children. Although I longed to become an aunt and Janey was likely almost as much desired by me as her parents, there was much I could not share with Elizabeth of this process. This was never more evident than when she was taken to the birthing bed with her sister and friend to help and I was excluded.

Although I was happy for Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet as an affection between them grew, I suppose I felt a bit sorry for myself that persons who had already had a spouse, were getting a second chance. Still, I did not truly wish to be married myself, only to not be left out.

I did my best not to let my disappointment show when I was not invited to the hen party and instead tasked with entertaining the Gardiner girls. They were sweet to be sure, but I felt the strain of being too old to share their same concerns, yet still not admitted into the world of womanhood.

At different times in my life I have received glimpses of the intimacies of life as a wife. Some of these glimpses have been tantalizing and others abhorrent. Because I am not yet a true woman, I cannot truly be blamed for trying to overhear what I may. Having grown up at Pemberley and having played sardines many times, and other hiding games, I am well familiar with all the best locations to overhear without being seen. Certainly, it is a childish habit, but I cannot repine trying to get little glimpses of what married life might be like even if sometimes I might wish something heard unheard. I suppose it goes back to trying to determine whether at least some men may be better than George.

My interactions with George Wickham at Ramsgate included both extremes of delight and horror. On the day when he was entreating me to marry him, the kisses we exchanged and his fervent pleading made me feel that married life would certainly be most pleasant, but his actions on the following day, when I consented to elope and become George Wickham's wife, made me feel as if I were in the Devil's own scrape.

George called me to sit upon his lap and pulled me from my perch upon his knees tight to his body. As he kissed me, forcing his tongue between my lips (something he had not done the previous day), he pulled my skirts up. I pushed him away, lept up and fled across the room. He pursued, laughing merrily at my desperation (as if it were some game, while I was deadly serious in trying to escape) as he cut me off from reaching the door, forcing me back into a corner, hemmed in by two walls. In that moment, I had no doubt that I was not ready to be a wife, certainly not to George, but my choices had narrowed and it seemed likely he would make me be one, one way or another.

I felt like a frightened rabbit who holds still to hide from a pursuing dog, wishing to flee but also fearing to run straight into its jaws. But unlike the pursuing dog, George had no doubt as to where I was and his eyes held me pinned in place, piercing me. Even though I was standing still, my breath came fast, though I tried to limit the sound. He put his hands on the wall on either side of me and pushed his hot body against mine. I felt that part of him again, which while I was on his lap had pressed into my thigh, but now it poked against my middle. George flexed his hips and through the material I felt it rubbing against me. I closed my eyes, willing myself to be somewhere, anywhere else.

George grabbed my hand, twisted it awkwardly and brought it against him. Where I expected to feel cloth, instead I felt skin under my palm. In surprise my eyelids flickered open for a moment and I saw that his hand (with mine underneath) was skimming inside his fall, which was partially unbuttoned. I blinked my eyes shut hard then and tried to pretend that none of this was happening.

I should have resisted, but instead my hand felt limp, as if it were not even a part of me. He moved my hand in his faster, faster, until his rod jerked and I felt something wet and sticky hit my hand. A moment later he pulled my hand out and then began wiping my palm against my skirt until it was mostly dry. Then he released my hand.

"Thank you, my dear," George told me. "That will do until tomorrow." I opened my eyes, saw him smirk and then watched as he tucked his shirt into his breeches and buttoned them up. I felt relief; it seemed that it was over. However, his next words scared me. "Be ready to depart at first light. You tempt me greatly. I think, perhaps, I shall have Mrs. Younge ride with your maid. There are many delights we could have on our journey. Go now; I shall show myself out." I obeyed before he could change his mind.

I was still sitting upon my bed in that self-help stained dress, pondering all that had occurred and whether I might persuade Mrs. Younge to arrange for us to go away that evening, to leave for London where my uncle the Earl was presently in residence, when there was a timid knocking upon my door. Rationally I knew that knock was not George's, but still I was too frightened to respond just in case I was wrong. After a second set of knocks I heard my maid say, "Miss Darcy, your brother is here."

I bolted up from my bed and pulled the door open. When I met Fitz in the parlor, I confessed the plans for the elopement, hoping dearly that he might put an end to them, while also feeling quite certain that he would leave me to my shame. In my desperation I even went so far as to tell him, "George took certain liberties with me and told me we should marry."

Fitz's face took on a scrunched up appearance with a deep red hue suffusing it. He asked in a very deep voice while his hands were tightly clenched into fists, "Where . . . is . . . he?"

Once I explained where George was lodging, Fitz left. I took advantage of his absence to have my dress changed, but was then uncertain what to do with it. There was no time to send it to be laundered, and if I did either here or at our home, would everyone know? The stain was more or less hidden in a clear of my skirt, but I felt marked, dirty. Not knowing what else to do, I had my maid pack the dress away.

When my brother returned mid-day, I noticed he had a more rumpled appearance and there were drops of dark red against his shirt and coat; I suspected the blood belonged to George as I saw no injures on my brother, but for swollen, reddened knuckles. He told me, "You shall never marry that man; I forbid it; I do not care what he has done."

Although I was pleased that we would not marry, I also felt deeply ashamed. I told Fitz, "He said that he loves me."

"George only loves himself and money, " he replied. Even though the shadows were already lengthing, he declared, "We will leave for Pemberley at once."

While we talked during the trip, George's name was never mentioned by either of us. Several times I caught Fitz staring at me, while his brow scrunched up, but he said not so much as a single unkind word to me.

Five days after we returned to Pemberley, Mrs. Annesley was engaged as my companion. Within an hour of our acquaintance she moved on from pleasantries to a conversation that mortified me greatly. "Mr. Darcy wishes to know if anything permanently damaging happened between you and the man who shall remain nameless. I need not know particulars, but simply answer me yes or no, did he ever . . . " I could tell she was struggling as to how to phrase the matter, "engage in those acts that are to be solely between man and wife."

What could I tell her? I was yet an ignorant child. No one had yet told me what the marital act entailed, not even obliquely as perhaps my mother would have, had she lived. I looked at my feet as I told her, "I am worried; I do not know."

Hesitantly, Mrs. Annesley asked, "Do you understand how children come to be?"

"They are the fruit of marriage," I told her, now staring at the wall, half turned away from her.

"Do you understand the act that results in that fruit being obtained?" She persisted.

I shook my head "no."

Mrs. Annesley hesitantly explained, while looking away from me, "A child can result if a man's 'sword' was placed within a woman's 'sheath.'"

I had to be certain, so I asked, "Where is this 'sheath'?"

When she explained that it was between my legs, I blew out a deep breath. I told her, "He did not do that."

"That is well," Mrs. Annesley told me. "I shall inform Mr. Darcy." But then she did not leave just then, instead she told me, "It appears, Miss Darcy, that you have had a narrow escape." Although I barely knew her, I found myself crying while held gently in her arms.

We never spoke of the matter again, but I noticed that if there were ever any male guests visiting, that she was always within sight of me.

While I might have been a true woman for several years now if I had married George, I would rather remain a child. Still, I had a deep curiosity about the Mrs. Wickham who took my place and wondered if I would ever meet her.

Around the time that my sister and brother were all but convinced that they would have no children, Mrs. Wickham visited Pemberley with her three children and stayed for three weeks when even a sennight would have been far too long. We were only rid her when George sought to join her and was not admitted to the house. His wife and children departed Pemberley to stay with the Bingleys, trusting in their hospitality.

When Mrs. Wickham arrived that first time, my brother, sister and I met her in the parlor. I am not sure what I was expecting from George's bride. I knew she had eloped with him, but I had nearly done likewise so I did not judge her for it and I suppose I expected that she had grown in wisdom in the intervening years as I had and that in being a wife and mother she would be more mature and steady than me. But it was quickly evident that though accorded the status of wife and mother, she was still very young and careless of how others perceived her actions.

She did not act like any mother I had met before. Her day dress, in a shocking shiny blue-green had her chest prominently on display and was evidently brand new, while her children's clothes (all but her eldest) were well worn and had been evidently handed down from the eldest with no attempt to make them over to fit.

Mrs. Wickham had done no more than said, "Hello Elizabeth," before she clumped over to the closest sofa and collapsed on it with a loud sigh, flopping down lengthwise, even placing her feet upon the wooden arm, causing her skirts to slide up to almost her knees. Her children stood next to her and stared at us with big eyes, apparently uncertain as to what they should do, all but the little one who was attempting to climb onto the sofa with no success.

With one hand Mrs. Wickham hauled him up by his near arm (to my mind it seemed that picking him up in such a way might hurt him, but he made no complaint) and he sat upon her lap and worked on trying to loosen his shoes. She paid him no mind, even when his shoes fell one after the other upon the floor. I noticed his stockings were stiff with dirt and well worn and one of his big toes, which was black with dirt, poked out a hole.

"Lord, I am so tired," Mrs. Wickham complained. "The journey on the mail coach was awful. I was never pestered more by the children anytime in my life. If only my maid of all trade had not left our employment. It came in my mind then that I should certainly bring them to Pemberley for a long visit. It shall be wonderful to enjoy myself without the burden of nappies and needing to see to their food."

Elizabeth graciously responded, "You remember Mr. Darcy; this is his sister, Miss Darcy." I inclined my head but said not a word. I received no acknowledgment, but Mrs. Wickham shortly thereafter deigned to present her children.

"Lizzy, see how well I have blessed George with three handsome and clever sons. I knew it would be so. Here are George II, Lyle and Matthew." She had barely said their names before exclaiming, "Now they must be taken to the nursery at once, for I am famished and need a rest with blessed quiet and sweet wine." Of course it could not be done as quick as she wished. A servant had to be fetched to see Mrs. Reynolds about who was to serve as nurse.

Mrs. Wickham lifted her head a bit and continued, "I dare say, Lizzy, that I might be able to sort out while you are childless. I expect part of your problem is that you do not enjoy it." To this shocking speech, none of us made reply. I remember wishing that Lady Catherine was there to put my sister's sister in her place. I did notice, however, that Elizabeth blushed and her eyes widened.

Mrs. Wickham did not seem to care, adding, "That is perhaps not surprising when you have such a dull and unpleasant man for a husband," she glared at my brother. Such an action seemed both unfair and most unwise indeed considering he was her host. Mrs. Wickham missed the glare my brother gave her in response or truly did not care.

Then she looked around a bit and added, "Lizzy, you certainly gained a fine home but I am not sure it was worth it to have to live with such a man who ruined my husband's hopes. Imagine, I could have been practically a lady!"

"I have been very blessed," was the only response my sister gave. Elizabeth then walked closer to the children and greeted them, asking the oldest what there names were. When he made no reply, Elizabeth said, "Let us play a game. I will try to guess." She pointed to the youngest, "That fine young man must be the oldest, George."

This got the true eldest to declare, "No ma'am, I am George two and this be Lyle." George II was a well formed child, who was approaching his seventh birthday, had a strong resemblance to George but for his blond hair, but I had heard many children's hair grew darker with time.

Elizabeth continued her game, guessing that the second son was nine and ninety. He giggled and said, "No, I . . . " he paused to count his fingers, "twee." Lyle, looked like Mrs. Wickham and Elizabeth, with curly brown hair with the shape of his mouth a match for both of them.

Lydia interjected loudly, "My second eldest has always looked like me, so of course I decided that he needed a name to match me. George had wanted to call him Henry, so I had to fuss and carry on until he was sick of it and let me have my way. The name Lyle is the closest to Lydia that I could find."

Her youngest had a mop of raven hair that hung far too long to not be tied back and dark eyes. He did not bear much resemblance to Mrs. Wickham, and I could see nothing of George in him. Regarding him, she only said, "Matthew is named for a dear friend." She continued on, "Yes, I certainly need a rest today and then I expect you will prepare many fine entertainments for me. You must host a ball in my honor and organize dinners and other schemes. I wish to dance and laugh and make merry. Surely you will wish to have gowns made up for me and present me with all the presents my distance has made inconvenient. Certainly some presents must be made for my fine sons as it is not as if you have your own sons to indulge."

As Mrs. Wickham droned on and on, I thought about whether it would be worth trying to cultivate a friendship with Mrs. Wickham. I had no doubt from her earlier conversation that she would not let something as insignificant to her as propriety prevent her from telling me anything about the unknown world of marriage. Still, did I really wish to think about what George did with her? I considered the matter off and on, but in the end gave her no encouragement and attempted to mostly stay away from her.

During their visit, Elizabeth did indeed do many nice things for Lydia, but more so for the children. I remember overhearing her discuss with my brother on the very evening of Mrs. Wickham's arrival, "I am so sorry for Lydia's conduct. I had hoped that being married and having children might improve her, but her manners are far more uncouth now than even what my mother would have allowed."

"Darling, you have nothing to repine," my brother told her in a sweet tone that I had learned was reserved for her alone and only when they were in private. "You are not responsible for her actions. Still, I hope this visit shall not be overly long." I heard some shuffling and imagined he had reached her side.

Then I heard Elizabeth pacing. "I am worried about those children; many times Lydia has written me to tell me she needs funds for them, but I am convinced that very little of what I have sent makes it to them."

"Lizzy . . . we cannot be responsible for them; it would bring us into greater intercourse with their parents and that I cannot have. Wickham will use anything we give them for his own benefit. It is not in his nature to care for anyone but himself."

"I understand." Her voice pitched oddly. "I will at least make sure they are dressed well for a while."

"I never thought you would do less and I shall give you any funds you require."

"It is unfair," Elizabeth said in a slightly petulant tone. "Why is it that she, _she_ who had to be rescued from her own idiocy, who is a ninnyhammer, a sapskull, who has not a mother's care, has three children. Not just one or two, but three! I would be so happy if I could but give you one child."

There was silence then and I imagined my brother embracing Elizabeth, perhaps wiping away her tears. "I would not trade your for all the children in the world. But do not give up hope now; they may still come in due time."

Elizabeth and I spent much time in the nursery with the children. We seldom saw Mrs. Wickham there. She enjoyed sleeping late, going out and about in the carriage, charging things to my brother than she did not need (until he put a stop to it).

Elizabeth and I both spent a good deal of time with the Wickham children. Although I think it was difficult for her at times, as it placed before the fact of her own barrenness, she never showed less than a bright face to the children. While Elizabeth was adept at handling them from the first, I was more hesitant. Yet even on that first visit, how could I resist when Lyle walked up to me, tugged on my skirt and said "Ana, Ana, pay, pay!" (We were both Ana, which I believe was his way of saying "aunt"). By the time two weeks had passed, I was so comfortable in their presence that I frequently visited even when my sister was otherwise occupied.

Perhaps because we were of a similar age and she knew from George something of our shared history, on one occasion Mrs. Wickham sought me out, cornering me in the nursery. Paying no mind to the nursery maid or the nurse, Mrs. Wickham said, "I am sure you must regret turning George away from you, but I assure you, _Miss _Darcy, that aside from losing your dowry, he has no cause to repine that I am his wife. Indeed, we had not been in our hired carriage more than a few minutes before he lost all restraint. That was how much he desired me," she bragged, thrusting out her chest in an exaggerated manner.

I felt myself blush and for a moment was at sixes and sevens. But though I may not be a full woman, I was a scared girl no longer. So with my cheeks still a-flaming I rejoined, "So he got under your skirts before you were married? I doubt that all the Pemberley servants knew that before, but doubtless it will spread before nightfall."

Unfortunately I had forgotten myself, for George junior asked in the piping high voice of a still-young child, "Daddy got between your skirts, Mama? I thought it was only Mr. Matthews that did that. Remember? You said you were playing a game.

Mrs. Wickham blushed (I would not think she could still have modesty to blush about) and said, "Hush now George."

Mrs. Mitchell, the children's temporary nurse shook her head in negation, her eyebrows lifted skyward, but then quietly added, "Those that have served long at Pemberley know that George Wickham grew up to become quite wild, but we had hoped him getting married might have settled him. But it seems that wild met wild."

And then to me, "No one here would say a word of evil against you miss or even against a sister of the missus, even if _she _might well deserve it."

"My George is a real man!" Mrs. Wickham exclaimed. "A real man takes what he wants, consequences be damned."

I wanted to lash out at her, to ask, "So was Mr. Matthews, who I am guessing got you with your third child also a real man?" but I had already been quite rude, said things a child ought not to hear. My ideas about what constituted a real man was apparently very different from hers. I hoped for a man who understood about restrain and decorum, who would seek to win my affection rather than try to force me. I stilled my tongue from issuing an insult and restrained myself, only saying as evenly as I knew how in that moment, "Well then, I am happy for you."

Just then, my sister Elizabeth burst in, the nursery maid at her elbow. Mrs. Mitchell pulled Elizabeth aside and had a quick whispered conference with her. I could see my sister get angrier and angrier. She glanced in my direction and said, "Georgiana, I need some time with my sister; perhaps now is a good time for you to practice at the harp. Mrs. Mitchell, could you and Amy take the children for a walk through the gardens?"

I obediently walked away, but as soon as I was sure the children were gone, I went through a servant's door and traced a path through to the servant's door that led into the nursery. It was clear it was the correct door because there was shouting a plenty. To make it out better, I placed my ear against the door, eager to hear the conversation that Elizabeth wanted to keep from me.

Elizabeth shouted, "Do you not understand, Mrs. Wickham, the efforts we have made to keep you respectable after you willfully ran away with Mr. Wickham? I did not wish to ever tell you but Mr. Darcy paid, _paid_ an exorbitant amount (I am not even sure how large, perhaps fifteen or twenty thousand pounds) to make him marry you, to salvage something of your reputation, to keep your child from being fatherless."

"Well if he did so, it was only what he owed to George, what he cheated him out of!" Mrs. Wickham, declared in a strident tone.

"Owed? _Owed?_ Nothing was owed to Mr. Wickham. Do not tell me that even now you do not know that your husband was paid his inheritance and the value of the living conditionally recommended for him. I cannot believe you would be so foolish as to believe his lies. The only reason Darcy paid him to take you was for me, not you. Such a great sum of money, but I imagine it ran through his fingers like water, judging by the rags your younger children were wearing when they arrived here. And now you are living well in our house, coddled and indulged as you demanded. While you should be grateful for our largess, you have hardly uttered a 'thank you' and instead today attempted to shame my sister Georgiana because she was wiser than you, did not give her maidenhead away upon a dusty road like a common harlot. If it were not for your children, I would eject you now from the house and leave it to you to make your way back to him as well as you could. If, indeed, your third son is the result of another man, I would not blame your husband for leaving you. As it is, I will let you stay here for another week or two if you shut your trap and never speak to Miss Darcy again."

Mrs. Wickham attempted to argue, "Mama would want you to care for me, we are family. If your husband indeed paid, I see now that he bought you."

"Stop!" Elizabeth shouted. "For you to try to befoul a kind act, which I was never to know of, is shameful. My husband is worth one hundred of the lazy, money-grubbing man you wed. If you persist in denigrating me and mine, I will make you leave anyway."

This seemed to be enough to silence Mrs. Wickham, or if it did not, after that they talked in softer tones that I could not hear.

Some years later, after Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet had progressed to informal courting, I spied upon them in the library, hoping to see them kiss, to be the first one to know (for surely a kiss would seal such an arrangement), that they would wed. Many a time I hid behind one of the last bookcases that was longer and thus not lined up exactly with the rest, hiding behind this longer end, peering through a narrow space between two dusty volumes on the bottom shelf, too delicate to be read, my face well hidden by the shadows the volumes cast. Obviously I should not have been doing this but I was too curious and Elizabeth was too occupied with her first born, her long awaited Janey. Many a time I saw my aunt and my sister's husband exchange a heated gaze, but nothing ever seemed to come of it.

As luck would have it (or wouldn't have it), I did not get to see their first kiss, to learn of their betrothal before the rest. However, that made me even more determined to see any intimacies they might engage in, when inevitably at some point they would be left alone. I received my chance hiding in that same spot (a spot my brother had caught me hiding in only two days earlier, when it was he and Elizabeth in the library and he was checking carefully to see if they in fact were truly alone), when those in the library changed from a trio (my sister, and the two of them) to a duo (when Elizabeth was fetched to tend to her babe).

I watched with anticipation after Mr. Bennet lept up and closed the door. What would he do? What was his plan for himself and Lady Catherine? Was Mrs. Wickham correct in her opinion that "A real man takes what he wants, consequences be damned"? They would be wed in days, so the chances of anything bad happening from a fumble in the dark (something I had once heard a footman propose to an upstairs maid who promptly fled from his gaze) were slim. Indeed, to my knowledge, Lady Catherine was likely past the age in which a woman can become with child, so what really was there to prevent things from going far indeed?

I felt my breath get faster, heard the puffs of air between my lips, as Mr. Bennet pulled my aunt against him. To my surprise, I learned that perhaps Mrs. Wickham should have really said that "A woman can be just as quick as a man to take what she wants." Could, perhaps, Mrs. Wickham been just as eager to leap upon George in their hired carriage as Lady Catherine seemed to be to possess and be possessed by Mr. Bennet? For people of their advanced age, he seemed remarkably spry and she quite limber.

They embraced, they kissed, they touched each other through their clothes, they even moaned when a particular touch was delightful. It was like nothing I had ever imagined, and nothing like I remembered from my time with George. I stared, afraid to blink, wishing to see more, more. I kept anticipating that at some point perhaps Lady Catherine would turn away, beg for restraint, but that never happened. I saw not the least look of trepidation or fear on her face, only a hooded gaze that seem to anticipate, desire before she closed her eyes.

Things were progressing rapidly and I wondered if I would indeed see Mr. Bennet get under Lady Catherine's skirts. I was considering if things seemed to be getting to that point, when I should look away. However, before I had even determined where that point should be, I heard the door swing open when they did not, spotted my brother approaching with a sort of snarl on his face before any member of the couple noticed he was there.

I recall that Mr. Bennet was running his hands along the curve of Lady Catherine's breasts, and she was tipping her head back, mouth open in a sigh, and thrusting her chest in his direction, when Fitz pulled Mr. Bennet off of her. I was too far away to hear what my brother snarled, but I could tell that it appeared directed at Mr. Bennet and not Lady Catherine, even though it was evident to me that if Mr. Bennet was the instigator, Lady Catherine was his willing and eager accomplice. Why, then, was my brother ignoring her role?

Interestingly enough, Mr. Bennet seemed flumoxed, said nothing back as far as I could tell. Instead I heard Lady Catherine's strident tone, telling my brother that he had no business trying to defend her honor given their imminent marriage.

What happened next surprised and shocked me. I heard my brother imploring my aunt to think of me and what effect her wantonness would have on the whole household. I wondered then if he suspected that I was spying on them at that very moment. It would not take much of an effort for him to approach the bookcase and look around it. However, whether he suspected on not, his focus remained on the couple.

I could see immediately that Lady Catherine would not be cowed, but before she could say more, Mr. Bennet sought to pacify her and Fitz, announcing that he would take himself away to go stay with the Bingleys. Mr. Bennet left after he bowed and kissed her hand and much to my relief, my brother departed with him.

Lady Catherine slumped in her fleur-de-lis chair. Her unhappiness radiated off her. As for me, I was stuck in my hiding place for nearly two hours until she finally left.

The time in which I had to remain in the library in silence gave me much time to think. Clearly, I had never been meant to marry George. A woman in love would not fear her fiance's touch, would long for him as he longed for her. I knew that at fifteen I had not been in love, had not been ready for marriage. But now, now I could imagine feeling that passion for someone, but I did not want passion alone, I wanted someone who was also my dear friend, as Mr. Bennet had become to Lady Catherine over the years, as Elizabeth was with Fitz.

I knew then that I had remained in the twilight between girl and woman too long. As pleasant as my existence had been as Miss Darcy, I wanted more, and that more could only come once I found the one for me. I had no particular desire to have a season in London, but neither did I know anyone possessing an estate near Pemberley who was someone that I could imagine coming to love. While I was not in a particular hurry, I knew for certain that I did not want to become a spinster, become an ape leader aunt.


End file.
